This Buried Life
by Emmanuelle Nathan
Summary: Bella Swan is content with her career and her new life in London but feels that there is still something missing. Will a chance encounter with sinister yet intriguing stranger hold the answer to what she truly desires? AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Nonetheless do you really want to be a thief and plagiarize this story?**

**Rated M. Younger readers cover your eyes now please.**

**oOo**

**Author's Note: **

**This story began as a one shot for the Show Us Your Dark Side Contest, but it seemed rather unfair to leave Bella in the lurch, so will be extended further. In order to facilitate this, some slight edits and a Chapter break have taken place in what is now Chapter One and Chapter Two. I hope you approve. **

**A special thank you to Spring Hale who encouraged me every step of the way to write this, my first fan fiction.**

**Thank you also to my pre-readers, MasenVixen and alice310. Your comments have been perfect.**

**My beta Songster is my very own angel.**

**oOo**

But often, in the world's most crowded streets,  
But often, in the din of strife,  
There rises an unspeakable desire  
After the knowledge of our buried life;  
A thirst to spend our fire and restless force  
In tracking out our true, original course;  
A longing to inquire  
Into the mystery of this heart which beats  
So wild, so deep in us - to know  
Whence our lives come and where they go.

**from: The Buried Life**

**by Matthew Arnold**

MONDAY

I pull my coat more tightly around me. These British January mornings are freezing and dark, and I'm not quite awake yet.

I am still trying to feel more human as I finish the ten minute walk to the Underground station. This is where I know I'll be brutally woken up by all the other commuters making their way to get to work. Their determination is something to behold, and I know that to survive I am going to have to join them.

The station is a hub, a bus terminal above ground and two subway lines crossing each other below ground. I straighten my back and lift my head up. I am about to go into battle.

Clutching my Oyster Card and without breaking my stride, I scan in through the barriers and head down the tunnels to the platforms below. I reach the last of the stairs, turn the corner and my heart leaps. I'm lucky. A train has just left clearing most of the platform, which means I'm definitely getting onto the next train. Who knows, I might even be lucky and get a seat!

I make my way down the platform to my spot. Technically, it's not just _my_ spot but rather a place shared with the other regular commuters. It seems we've all figured out that if we wait here we'll be right at the carriage doors when the train arrives. I also happen to know that these doors will deposit me by the exit when I get out at my destination. It's nerdy, but hey, at least the other seven people huddling approximately around the same spot as me are just as sad. I take off my coat to reveal my favorite dress, a jersey wrap around that ties at the front. While I might have been cold at ground level; down here resembles a sauna. The British haven't embraced heating or air-conditioning in public places.

I look at the clock. 8:00am. I am on right on time and the next train slides into the station. I feel immensely pleased when the doors open directly in front of me and I'm the first one on board, snagging the only free seat available. I organize my handbag and briefcase, and pull out the print out of the latest Fan Fiction story that Rosalie has given me to read. I am halfway through the newest installment, which means I will finish this before I have to get off. Today is already a good day.

Fifteen minutes later, I put the printed paper away. My mind is full of Luke and Claire as I gaze around the carriage. Romance is not usually what I choose to read, but this one hasn't been that bad. My British friend Rosalie is intent on educating me. I've resisted until now because I don't want to be reminded that I might be missing out on being with somebody. The thought of being hurt again, of being humiliated and deceived is too terrifying for me to think of. No, I like my routine and the cocoon of safety it gives me, although despite this I am also aware that it's because I'm a coward. These stories remind me of this and I vaguely wonder if I would take the risk Claire did despite the heartbreak. Would it be worth it? Would it make my life more exciting, or is it just something confined to the storybooks? I shake my head to dispel the melancholy - at least I can enjoy the fantasy through this fiction. All in all it's much safer this way, but I know that I'm trying to convince myself of this.

Five more minutes until my stop. I look at my fellow passengers, and I hide my smirk. The British are an entertaining bunch, despite their attempts to be serious. Not one person talks in the carriage. Instead, a cacophony of tinny music can be heard coming out of the iPods that at least half of the carriage are wearing. Everybody is trying their damnedest not to meet anyone else's eye. I honestly think there'd be a stampede to get off at the next stop if a stranger were to start up a conversation with any of them.

In the comfort of my seat, I relax. I close my eyes and think about how I've arrived here. It's such a long way from home, a far cry from Forks, although the weather is somewhat reminiscent of it. I miss my dad, but he's re-married now, and though I'm pleased for him, I don't feel a part of it. I miss the friends I made at GWU and Harvard. Skype and email make that easier to bear.

I definitely don't miss James, or the heartache, and I'm glad I'm on another continent. The thought of him sends a shiver down my spine. He was always so brutal in pointing out my failings, criticizing my love of control and lack of spontaneity. I used to suspect that he was jealous of my career. I used to think that I had proved to him that I could embrace change by up and moving to London when the offer came. Now I wonder whether he was right. The truth is that although I might have moved cities, countries and continents I am still hiding behind my research, using it to a certain extent as an excuse to protect myself from the outside world.

I suddenly feel uncomfortable, and for a moment I am convinced that someone is watching me. I push the feeling out of my mind, chastising myself for allowing a fleeting thought of James and his disapproval to have such an effect on me, despite the fact that I left him over a year ago. He is out of my life. I make myself focus on the positive things I have in my life, even if the main one might have been the source of his remarks. The biggest upside to being in the UK is that I love my job. It's been tailored for me. Literally. I think back to the call I received less than a year ago, offering me the chance to work at one of the most prestigious museums in the world. They even asked me what it would take to get me to agree to it.

My stop approaches. I stand to leave and again, quite suddenly, feel the heat of someone's eyes on me. I glance around, but am swept up with the other people leaving before I can glance back to identify the origin of the unsettling sensation. Following the flow of other passengers, I'm soon ejected into the crisp morning air above ground. I turn out of the station, and shortly afterwards my heels are clipping across the courtyard of The British Museum.

oOo

"But my dear, do you really think that's the wisest use of our limited funding?"

The condescending tone of Professor Laurent de Caen is sickly sweet, but dangerously venomous. He is trying to humiliate me. He knows it, everyone in the room knows it, and I know it. I. Hate. Him.

"The work done to date has yielded groundbreaking results. Surely that's what our funders are interested in." I try to keep the acidity out of my tone. I don't succeed.

Riley clears his throat in that embarrassed, non-confrontational way the Brits do. "Well, this is one of the main things we'll be able to discuss with the Chief Executive of the Foundation when he visits on Friday." He mediates weakly. Riley might be the Director of the museum but as I've learned over the year, I have more balls than him.

The meeting is over and I'm still seething. I slowly gather my things.

"Thinking about how much you'd like to make out with Laurent?" The voice behind me startles me, but I can't help but laugh.

"You know how hot I think that fucker is."

Rosalie grins. "Come on, you and your foul, sarcastic mouth need a caffeine injection before your tour begins."

I groan. I have to take public tours on Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays. "Explain to me again why we have to meet the public... I'm a researcher, not a guide."

"We do it in the hope of meeting a living Adonis rather than the ancient marble ones we have to make do with around here. " I arch an eyebrow at her.

oOo

TUESDAY

I practically run to the Underground station. Not a good idea in 3 inch heels, scratch that, hell, in _any_ heels. 8:10 am and the platform is already more crowded. I walk to my spot to join the other early morning nerds. I tug off my coat, revealing my wool trouser suit and white silk shirt underneath. By good fortune, knowing where to stand means that I am on the first train that comes, and I am standing surrounded by people, and hanging on to the overhead railings which I can reach thanks to my heels. I guess they have their uses after all.

I stare ahead of me, eyes glazed over, looking and thinking of nothing in particular, much like everyone else here. Unable to read in this confined space, I distract myself and start to look at those around me. We are now at the next tube stop and the doors open letting in a blast of fresh-ish air.

A couple of people attempt to move from behind me in order to get out of the doors. There is no real room to move, so we all inhale and try our best to allow them out. I manage to turn around as there seems to be slightly more space if I do and I continue with my observations. People are wearing those telltale signs… new coats and scarves, new handbags, the spoils of Christmas presents or the January sales. Most people are predictable. This is why I love studying them, here and in my work. There are always the fascinating exceptions to the rule. A flood of new passengers navigate their way on board and I am jostled as the doors close and the train moves again.

I look at the newcomers to our confined space. The lady in front of me is tall, blond, and disgustingly pretty. This only makes the fact that her new Prada bag, a recent acquisition that she is obviously flaunting, is digging into my right breast all the more annoying. I try not to grind my teeth and attempt to shift my standing position to alleviate the pain. As I do so I catch a glimpse of a tall man with tousled auburn hair, standing behind her. His hair looks almost luminous even under this poor lighting. I can't see any more though, my Prada torturer is in the way.

I turn my attention to the business man who is staring as discretely as possible at Prada Bag. She knows it. Loves it. And dispassionately ignores it. The train unexpectedly screeches to a halt, and we all lurch to the left. Prada Bag has ended up plastered against an equally embarrassed and delighted Business Man. She does not look pleased. I can't help the smirk on my face. My eyes travel to where she had been standing just as the lights flicker off. We are plunged into darkness for less than a minute, and everything is silent… well, apart from the tinny music of the iPod symphony in the carriage.

The lights come back on… and _holy fuck_… I am greeted by the most startling eyes I have ever seen. I never knew eyes could be this color. He stares right at me. Deliberately. It is all the more shocking given how everyone else always avoids eye contact. It's not an inquisitive stare. It's feral, full of want and desire, and something else I can only describe as hunger. It's, quite frankly, scary.

My heartbeat slows almost to a standstill before trying to pound its way out of my ribcage. It's beating so quickly if I wasn't hanging on to the handrail I'd be in a heap on the grubby floor. He is captivating in every way. Slim with a perfectly classical jaw-line, straight slender nose, but those eyes… it's those piercing eyes that really do it.

I can't break away from his spell. He seems to sense this, and slowly the corners of his mouth start to turn upwards. The half smile on his face makes him all the more dangerous. There's something distinctly arrogant and dominant about him. He continues to stare directly at me. I have never held the attention of someone so beautiful in my whole life. He is almost too perfect, and certainly not the type of man who should be travelling by subway.

Prada Bag has peeled herself from Business Man, and in my peripheral vision I see that she's none too pleased about her encounter. She turns to take her previous position and notices the stunning man staring at me. She is even more displeased now and tries to take a step between us. Unfortunately for her at this moment he takes a step forward, closing the gap between us and leaving her out. He is now inches from me. His body is not touching mine, quite a feat in this confined space, but his presence is overwhelming as he looks down at me. Etiquette would dictate that I move away from him as he is in my personal space, but for some reason my body doesn't react. My mind finally kicks in, however, and starts screaming for me to get away from him. This all feels… off. Maybe I'm misreading the situation and his intentions.

No, I haven't. He hasn't broken his gaze; I don't think he has even blinked. The half smile is still in place, but I now feel uncomfortable at his intensity. In contrast with his porcelain skin, my cheeks flush with embarrassment. His stare is not natural, not for a Brit, not for any nationality for that matter. It's beginning to creep me out, and again I think he knows it. I frown. In response his smile widens. He is now leering at me. I am self-conscious and suddenly angry. He is getting off on this.

I'm vaguely conscious that my stop is coming up, but I am not sure I'll be able to move unless he stops looking at me. My luck is in though because the moment the train comes into the station, is the moment that Prada Bag decides she's not going to miss a chance at catching the attention of this compelling man. As the train stops everyone lunges slightly to the right and she uses the momentum to velcro herself to his side. It distracts him for a second, and I use the opportunity to squeeze my way off the now crammed subway car.

I'm the last out of the carriage before the doors close, and I turn to look back into the train. He is still looking directly at me. It's freaky and unsettling. I am almost glad to be out of his stranglehold. Again he seems to be reading me, and he smiles widely. There is menace to it, and I decide that I don't like it as I walk towards the exit.

oOo

I go straight to the staff restrooms when I get to the museum. I'm shaken, more than I should be, and I can't explain why. I'm even more confused as I find that I am aroused. This is so wrong. I chastise myself; I can't be turned on by some perv on the Tube. I pee, clean myself up and try and clear my mind. As I wash my hands, Rosalie bursts into the bathroom.

"Thank God, there you are… you're late for the staff meeting."

"Why? What's happened?"

She's leaning on a sink trying to get her sentence out. "Laurent's on the war path. It seems like your latest proposal has set the cat amongst the pigeons. You might want to get in there before Riley actually starts buying Laurent's crap."

"It's Tuesday and he already has his pants in a twist. Christ, haven't we been through this before?"

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger… I just wanted to warn you about the pissy mood he is in."

I head over to the Reading Room where we have our weekly staff meetings and I can hear Laurent from the indoor courtyard. I push open the door and he is in full flow.

"…we need those resources, Riley, and we'd be able to get them if we weren't wasting precious money on a trivial field…"

I clear my throat. "That so called trivial field _Professor_, has brought in more tangible results than your department has in the last two years. Besides which, the Foundation specifically asked for a Hominid Paleobiology researcher. You have problems with it, why don't you raise it with them when they visit?"

Laurent narrows his eyes. "Tangible results…Really? I mean, do you seriously think that finding a connection between different indigenous populations is really going to stand up in the long run? What are you trying to prove anyway? That there is a whole sub-species that has been walking this world alongside Homo sapiens that we have never heard about! Come on _Bella,_" he sneers, "grow up."

I bite my lip. And mentally use a wonderful English expression… _Fucking. Tosser. _

I count to ten as slowly as I can, and as calmly as possible say "As I said. I'm sure you can bring it up on Friday. We'll all be interested to hear what they have to say about the funding they provide us. Don't you agree, Riley?"

Riley splutters.

I move to get a cup of coffee. Annoyed about my exchange with Laurent I decide to ignore the rest of the meeting, sit myself down and pull out the latest literature Rosalie has lent me. More romance, with apparently a wonderfully smutty edge to it. She swears by it these days, and hardly reads anything else. The jury is out at the moment, but if it can get me out of my foul mood, I'm in. I zone out the rest of the meeting and immerse myself in the new story.

Half an hour later Rosalie taps me on the shoulder. I look up at her blushing. The room is empty and the meeting long over… I guess this is stuff I could really get addicted to.

"Shit, Rosalie, I don't think I've learnt so much about sex ever before… Who writes this stuff? And where can I meet a hottie like Luke?"

"Sweetie… if you're really going to read the stuff I'm recommending to you, you have to realize he doesn't exist. It really is best in the long run, otherwise you're going to be severely disappointed!"

I laugh. "Now that you ask though…" Rosalie continues "… there's a lovely lecturer I know who you should meet."

"You know I'm not ready for dating, Rosalie."

"When are you going to stop with the excuses and start breaking out of your shell? You need to get out there."

We've had this discussion before. Maybe she's right. It's certainly true that I feel I'm missing out on something, but I just don't have the courage to expose my soul to anyone yet.

oOo

WEDNESDAY

I'm late. This is all I need when I have a meeting with Riley at 9:30 about how we are going to present our work to our benefactor. My research depends on them continuing their funding. Knowing that Laurent will have been dripping poison into Riley' ear in order to try and direct funds to his latest pet project, I was up until midnight preparing for this. Why does Laurent have to work with me? I dislike him intensely and wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him.

If I'm being really honest with myself, I also know that I am late because I am nervous about getting on the Tube, as the Brits call it. Those eyes and that half smile have been haunting me since yesterday. Their image crops up unexpectedly and throws me completely. The more it happens, the more I am freaked out. Even the little sleep I had didn't offer any respite. I know that in a city of eight million people there is little chance I'd have the misfortune to see _him_ again, but at least travelling at a different time will diminish those chances further.

Travelling later however is far more unpleasant than I'd imagined. If I thought it was crowded yesterday, it is nothing compared with today. There isn't even space on the platform enough to take off my coat, so I undo it, and hope that will be enough to cool me. I don't think it's really going to work.

Even at my usual spot I don't make it onto the first two trains that arrive. A third one arrives and no passengers get off. The carriage is already crammed but I am determined to get on come hell or high water and push myself into the carriage. The doors close directly behind me, and I shuffle around as best I can to look out of the just-closed door. At least this gives me the illusion of not being in such a claustrophobic space.

I close my eyes and attempt to block everything out. I try to forget about the elbows and bags pushing into me. I try to forget about the sweat that I can feel slowly pooling at my lower back and threatening to make its way down the back of my leg. Only five more stops until I arrive at my exit.

The train pulls into the next station. As it slows to a stop I open my eyes, widen them at what I see and almost pass out. This is not because of the heat; but because standing, staring, right at me on the other side of the glass, are the pair of eyes I've been dreading to see. His porcelain skin makes him look flawless. He is breathtaking. And he looks pissed off.

"Mind the Gap", we are warned. That's really the furthest thing I am worried about right now. Someone from my left steps off the train, and I know immediately who will fill the space. The doors slide shut again, and I am so shocked that I am still vacantly staring out of the glass as the train disappears into the tunnel.

I am trembling. What is he doing here? This has to be a coincidence. Right, even I don't buy that one. So, what is it – he's stalking me? Why the hell would he do that? I've only seen him once; it's a little early to be assuming that, isn't it? He doesn't know me, and anyway, it's not like he got on with me at my stop. Is he dangerous? He _feels_ dangerous, but that's hardly something I can go to the police with… a feeling. So I resort to copying the most British of responses. I decide to try my best to ignore him. Slight problem with that. I can feel his body touching my side. I will not look at him. I will absolutely not look at him or encourage him in any way. I will positively not look at him, encourage him or think about him and his proximity to me.

Yeah. I fail on all counts.

I know his eyes are boring into me, and I know in about two seconds I will have to take a peek.

I slowly turn my head and glance up. Yep. He's looking right at me. _Holy shit_. What am I going to do? Do I need to do anything? He hasn't done anything… No. I just need to get to my stop and get off. He didn't leave the train when I did yesterday so there is no reason why he will today. If he does, I'll go and find someone to report him to. I try and take comfort from this plan.

I'm just about to turn my head away, when he takes a small step forward, getting as close as he can to me. He still looks angry. Panic is starting to bubble under my skin, and yet I can't move or tear my eyes away from him. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_ He must read my reaction because now the smirk is back. My panic is now mixed with anger… not natural bedfellows, and I feel nauseous and conflicted. This is exacerbated further as he starts to lean down to my ear. It's as if he is moving in slow motion. I try and take a step back but there is no room to move. I am trapped.

Despite the close surroundings I can smell him. Indescribable, intoxicating and inviting. It makes me stop trying to move away and I'm confused by my own reactions. I can now feel his breath on my cheek, and on my ear.

"Don't ever make me wait again."

_What?_ I stare back at him, incredulous. I open my mouth to ask him who the fuck he thinks he is.

"I mean it."

I close my mouth not saying a word. No one has ever spoken to me in this way. Not even James in his moodiest moments. He wouldn't have dared. So why the hell am I taking it from a complete stranger? If I don't approve of his behavior, I certainly do not approve of my body's reactions. I am getting aroused. Again. Since when have I started getting off on the behavior of stalkerish and possibly dangerous strangers? As I try to get a grip, I can't stop looking up at him. I can still feel his breath on me. He doesn't move away, and I feel rather than hear him inhale deeply. It confuses me further. What is he doing?

Calculatingly he brings his hand up, and it hovers over my left cheek. I flinch. He smiles. He's playing with me. I can hardly bear it. Slowly it settles on my cheek, which instantly ignites under his touch. I've never felt anything like it. His fingers feel very cool in this warm environment, but his touch is intense. There is something not right about it. It's too consuming, and it scares the shit out of me.

His hand slowly moves down and cups my chin, before his fingers slip down my neck. They rest on my pulse point at the junction of my neck and shoulder. I shiver and his lips twitch. My brain wants him to stop, but my body is desperate for him to continue. My rational thoughts tell me that he won't dare to go any further. My body rejoices as his fingers prove me wrong and slowly trace down my arm, deliberately brushing my breast and pausing there, sending shocks to my nipples and further down.

His eyes haven't left mine, and I see something dark moving behind them. I know what it is. It's desire unfurling and I'm not sure I want to see or feel any more than I already am. His fingers brush down the side of my torso and come to rest on my hip bone.

"Tomorrow you are going to wear your wrap around dress again." It's a statement, not a question. The words startle me out of my haze.

"Aren't you?" Again, it's said more as a demand rather than a question, and I manage only one response.

"Yes."

And with my answer, I realize we are pulling into my station, the doors are opening and I am moving away from him and stepping off the train with countless, faceless others.

What just happened?

oOo

My meeting with Riley goes as I anticipated, with him regurgitating opinions that have obviously been planted by Laurent. It's pathetic. I run through my counter arguments and insist that we present both cases equally to the Foundation. In the end he capitulates.

This small victory does nothing to ease my day. The day passes with excruciating slowness. I want to be anywhere but here. I want to be able to think about what happened on the Tube, to process what the hell is going on. Instead I trudge through the day, as minutes stretch to feel like hours.

Finally it is time to head home. I am picking up my coat and bag from my office when I suddenly realize that I going to be going on the Tube. It makes my stomach turn. What shocks me more is that it doesn't turn with disgust, but in anticipation. I might see _him_. My brain is definitely not happy about this new development. It's really bothering me. Something is wrong with this situation. My brain snidely asks what would possibly be wrong with my body seemingly being so willing to being groped by intimidating strangers on the London subway system.

On the way to the Tube and for the rest of my journey home I constantly turn my head, hoping that I will see him or not by turns depending on whether my brain is able to override my body's desires. By the time I am home I am a mess, both emotionally and physically. I have never been so turned on.

oOo

**Author's Note:**

**For those of you who like a challenge, homage is paid to a wonderful FF story within this. Can you spot which one it is?**


	2. Chapter 2  Stranger

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Nonetheless do you really want to be a thief and plagiarize this story?**

**Rated M. Younger readers cover your eyes now please.**

**oOo**

**Author's Note: **

**My beautiful beta Songster, you are the best.**

**My pre-readers Spring Hale, Masen Vixen and alice310, thankyouthankyouthankyou. **

**oOo**

Now therefore, while the youthful hue  
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,  
And while thy willing soul transpires  
At every pore with instant fires,  
Now let us sport us while we may

**from: To his Coy Mistress**

**by Andrew Marvell**

THURSDAY

It is 6:00 and I have been awake for hours. Every time I have closed my eyes and succumbed to sleep I have been haunted by his eyes. Their presence in my dreams has jerked me awake each time and I've now given up on trying to sleep.

I climb out of bed and head to the bathroom to run a bath. I usually shower in the mornings, but today I have the time to have a soak. I lie back in the warm water and try to clear my mind. I'm anxious and butterflies have just started in my stomach. I need to calm down. _What am I doing?_ Well, at least I am being spontaneous. This is something I'd never dream of doing, but maybe I can use this to break out of my rigid routine. Is this why I'm so nervous? My body agrees with me, _and you've never been this attracted to anyone_, while my mind shakes her head in dismay, _he's been groping you. What kind of respectable man do you think would do that?_

Drying my hair, I look in the mirror. Nothing surprising stares back. It's just little me… alright looking, but not one to be picked out in a crowd. So why do I have a potential psycho after me? _Yeah, but one that you're looking forward to seeing. _My snarky thoughts are back. Great, they're really going to help me this morning.

I pull on underwear. I try to be flippant about it, as if I haven't spent the last fifteen minutes deciding on which underwear to wear. It feels important to be dressed properly this morning. I need something… anything… that will give me strength. Power panties have to be the answer. They will come to my rescue.

I roll my eyes. Who am I trying to kid? I despair yet again at myself. I move to stand in front of my wardrobe and pull out my jersey dress. I'm reluctant to wear it. I hate wearing the same outfit twice in the same week. I sigh at my own rationale – _this_ is what I worry about, as opposed to the fact that I am capitulating to the desires of a random stranger. No, I am more worried about the fact that I wore this on Monday…

I drop the dress and feel like I've been punched in the gut.

I wore this dress on Monday.

I didn't see him until Tuesday.

Fuck.

How long has he been watching me?

oOo

8:00 and I am standing at my spot underground. My brain has gone on strike; how I can be so foolhardy? After my realization this morning I sat down and thought about this. It was after my conclusions to said think-a-thon that my rational side up and vacated the premises in disgust. She is washing her hands of me for now. The fact is that I know I am here now because no matter how scared and wrong this is, no matter how out of character this is for me, I want to know what happens next. My whole life I've been cautious and sheltered. This is a chance to walk on the wild side, even if it's just to dip my toe in. I'll be in a public place. At no time will I be somewhere where I won't be able to alert someone if I need help. _That's got to be reassuring… right?_ Who am I kidding?... I'm as nervous as hell.

The train comes and I know this is it. It occurs to me that he might not be waiting at the next stop. Will I be disappointed? I push the thought out of my mind. Whatever happens I know that at least I am doing something different. _That's what counts, right? _My brain snorts with laughter at my lame justifications.

I step onto the crowded train, we set off down the tunnel and as soon as that happens all of my resolve decides to take a hike. What the hell do I think I'm doing? I need to get off this train. Okay, that's not going to happen now, but I can certainly move to a different part of the carriage. Okay, that's also not going to happen either because both corridors are now full of people. Shit, shit, triple shit… we're at the next station. _His station_.

I didn't turn around when I got onto the train so I am not facing the opening doors. I am paralyzed, trapped in the loop of my cursing mantra… shit, shit, triple shit. I sense people moving around me, those getting off, and some getting on. Maybe I'm early, maybe he hasn't seen me, maybe… and then I feel it… a hand on my right hip. I don't need to turn around. I know it's him as his scent surrounds me.

The front of his body presses against my back, hand still on my hip, casually, as if we've known each other for years. My right arm is stretched above me holding onto the overhead handrail. I feel him wrap my left hand in his. He is checking to see that I am holding my briefcase in it. I am.

"Good girl" he breaths into my ear. "Now don't move."

A jolt of anticipation races through my body. With both my hands out of action and pulling in different directions I feel totally exposed and vulnerable, despite all of the other people surrounding us. I am scared and elated at the same time. He moves to my side, facing me, pushing himself along the side of my body. In this position he can see my face, and if I was to turn my head ninety degrees I'd be looking up into those eyes. I can't though. I'm frozen to the spot, terrified of why I've put myself in this position and at the thought of what he might do. Who is this man? What does he want? I really don't want him to hurt me, and I instantly feel very foolish that I am allowing him to do this.

His other hand is still on my hip. Slowly, I feel it move across the base of my back. His hand is firm, sensuously slow as it makes its way downward; from the top, trailing down and around until he is cupping my right buttock, fingers sprawled, a couple almost grazing my core. Shards of energy flow across my skin where he is touching me, and I can feel myself being turned on by his illicit action. I almost cry out when I suddenly feel his other hand on my stomach.

"Quiet", he growls so softly that only I can hear him. I bite my lip to remind myself not to make a sound.

His hand has ducked under my open coat. No one can see what he is doing, and I feel his long fingers find the edge of my wrap around dress. They move underneath the fabric of my dress to find the silk of my camisole and make their way blindly downwards towards my center. I can barely breathe as I know that he will soon be encountering the bare skin just below my camisole and just above my underwear. I glance at him, and it is almost my undoing. His face is much closer than I had realized, and his gaze much like a predator's watching my every move. His perfectly shaped mouth hovers inches from me, slightly parted. A smile plays on his lips, but his eyes are focused and full of what I can only describe as unadulterated lust. My breath hitches, and I know he has heard it. The smile widens.

Why am I letting this happen? I am horrified at myself, at the situation, at everything about it. This man has been following me for goodness knows how long, and I'm letting him touch me in the most intimate way. A shiver goes through me as I think this, but it could equally be because now cold fingers are brushing my bare lower abdomen. The sparks that have been ignited by his touch intensify, sending pulses to my core. I try to fight them. I cannot be turned on by this. The fingers are about to find the elastic of my underwear. I want to move away. This is not right. As if he has read my mind, I hear him hiss 'Stay'. It is not the gentle plea of a lover. It is a command that carries a veiled threat. I shiver again and know that this time I am scared.

I close my eyes as I try to gather my strength to say something to alert people around me to the pervert who is taking advantage of me. I open my month and draw breath just as his fingers surprise me and slip over the top of my underwear instead of underneath. They make their way between my legs, and to my very center.

He taps a finger against my nub and knocks the breath I have taken right out of me. I am so stimulated that I am dripping wet and I know he can feel this through my underwear.

He chuckles darkly and I open my eyes to meet his. He squeezes my buttock with one hand while he presses the finger of his other hand again right there. I am almost at the edge; almost about to tip over into ecstasy, and…. He stops.

I look sharply up at him, beyond annoyed.

"This is your stop", he grins, knowing exactly what he has done. "I wouldn't want you to be late."

I scowl.

"A short skirt tomorrow. No underwear."

I feel used. He gazes at me. I blaze under my blush. I know exactly what he is referring to and am excited even further by it. _How can you let him talk to you like that? _I feel ashamed at what I've let happen. _How could you let him touch you like that?_

As the train stops he lets go of me, and with it my frustration and my conscience rolls over me, and I am getting upset. Tears prick my eyes. I have been used.

As the doors open and I start to step forward he repeats, "Tomorrow."

I step off dazed. The word has somehow slightly appeased me, but not enough to mask the bitter taste of disgust that is pooling in my mouth. I grow increasingly nauseous as I walk to work.

oOo

Rosalie notices that I'm distracted; but what can I say to her? All day I have been wrestling with self loathing. I can't believe what I let happen. If anyone else knew, they'd be horrified. What self-respecting woman would let herself be groped like that? She wouldn't, and she certainly wouldn't be as turned on by it as I am. I can't bear the thought that I'm so desperate that I'd resort to something like this.

I try and bury myself in work to forget about what happened this morning. I can't bear to think of it, let alone that he might be following me, or that he'll be waiting for me again tomorrow morning. I don't even know his name; and yet I find myself daydreaming about him, and about his hands. Each time I do, I catch myself and another wave of guilt, despair and revulsion courses over me. My body tries to fight back against my mind, reminding me how much I enjoyed it. I wouldn't be daydreaming about him if I didn't like it. So why exactly am I so upset by it?

I am thinking about this as Rosalie sits next to me in the café at lunchtime.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" She cuts straight to the point.

I close my eyes. I'm not sure what to say to her and hear myself saying just that... "I don't know what to say, Rosalie." Great. Clearly my brain has decided to go on a trip to find its inner self. Now there is definitely going to be a conversation about this, and one I'm not ready to have.

She looks at me with narrowed eyes and surprises me. "You don't want to talk about it yet. Do you?" Damn she's good, and this is why I love her.

"I do. I just don't know what to say at the moment."

"OK. Tell me this... Is it a man?"

"Yes."

"Does he make you feel good?"

I hesitate. I want to tell her the truth. "Yes."

"Are you being safe?"

I frown slightly. "…Yes…" I mumble.

I'm not sure how truthful this is, but I know I could always stop it if I wanted to. It's not like I'm tied to his bed or anything.

"Do you want to see him again?"

Again a tricky one to answer… Am I really going to do this again when I feel so disgusted with myself? But that isn't what she's asked me… Do I _want_ to see him? Rosalie sees my difficulty.

"Bella, what are you worrying about?"

"I'm not sure what people will think…" I don't get chance to even finish the sentence.

"No." She says sharply. "Bella, stop right there. I didn't ask that. You can't worry about what people think while you're trying to find out for yourself. Know your own mind first. Don't second guess it."

I am trying to process what she is saying. "But…"

"No buts… well, other than the ones you want to touch up!" I roll my eyes. "I know… lame." She laughs. "What I'm saying is that you haven't so much as fancied anyone since you've been here, and that's what? Nine months now? I don't think you should be blocking something just because you're worried about what people might think. Do you really think your true friends would judge you? And quite frankly if you do I will have to have words with you about them."

I blink at her. I have heard what she is saying, but my mind is still wanting to revolt. Somehow she sees this and gives me a long hard stare.

"Bella. You're a strong, independent woman. There is absolutely no reason why you shouldn't enjoy the nice things when they come your way. Now, I'm not going to say another word, but you're not to continue dwelling negatively about whatever it is… agreed?"

I laugh. It sounds strained, but at least she's broken me out of my shell of self-loathing, and the rest of the day flies past. I see Riley again, to finalize the arrangements for my presentation tomorrow to our funders, which I will give after my museum tour obligations in the morning. I try to get out of it, but Riley is having none of it.

"We can't research in a vacuum," he says. "We need to be in touch with the public so that they understand the value of our work. Impact is the most important measure of success for researchers, esteemed colleagues!" He might have a point, but I grumble nonetheless. I also know it will mean that Laurent will do his presentation before me, and that he'll use the opportunity to bitch about my research. I hate not being able to be there for any damage control I'll have to do.

oOo

The tour group I am taking this afternoon has gathered in the foyer. It is smaller than usual, only five people, three are obviously students and the other two are fellow Americans who are retracing their honeymoon on their 40th anniversary.

oOo

They are a fun group and before I know it we are standing by The Rosetta Stone and I have almost finished my spiel. I am explaining more about my speciality, Hominid Paleobiology, and my research into human evolution, and how answers often come from unexpected places. I tell them how, at the moment, my research is focusing on whether there is some other explanation for the missing links we still have in human evolution using a combination of widely varying disciplines such as archaeology, population patterns and migration, early symbolism and language.

A throat clears next to me and I glance to see who it is, stumbling sideways and bumping into one of the students when I do.

I recover mumbling an apology to her, as his hand whips out and tugs my arm so that I am standing upright again. Even in this brighter lighting he looks pale and perfect.

It's my stranger from the train. _My_ stranger?My mind sarcastically picks up on my slip.

I am still gaping. He drops my arm and raises his eyebrows at my silence.

"Erm…" I stutter. "I'm afraid I've just finished the tour." Is all I can say, and remembering the group I've been showing around, I turn to thank them and to say goodbye. He stands by me silently, the tension building between us.

I am gripped by terror. My mind is on overdrive. How does he know where I work? How did he find me? How much does he know about me? He must be following me. What is he going to do? What does he want?

The others leave after thanking me, and I wish that they'd stay so that I'm not left alone with him. I don't say anything though, and my brain is trying to figure out why. Rosalie's words come back to me, _"Are you being safe?"_ I don't think I am anymore. He's obviously been following me if he knows where I work… Does this mean he knows where I live? I need to leave, to get away from him and tell someone about what's going on.

I start to move away when his hand closes around my wrist again, and he pulls me into one of the quiet corners nearby. An obelisk obscures us from most of the room.

"Scared?" He asks, amusement in his voice.

A sly smile appears. "Yes, you should be." He states in answer to my silence.

"I am looking forward to seeing you tomorrow morning."

I am still staring at him. I am hypnotized by his beauty on the one hand, and yet his eyes seem to be luring me to a perilous end. I am petrified and have started to tremble.

As if sensing this, he looks down at me. "You were excited to see me this morning. I bet if touched you now you still would be."

I want to deny this, but I know that he is right on both counts. This is so wrong. I need to say something, start screaming, _anything_. The fact is though that his statement is something I can't deny and my silence is a confirmation to his observation. This confuses me more.

"You must be frustrated." He isn't wrong.

"Take matters into your own hands, I'll know, and you won't get your reward." I can feel my underwear dampen as soon as he says this, and feel ashamed as I do.

"I'll be seeing you," he says ominously, and with that he walks away from me, disappearing into the crowded room.

I am reeling, and as soon as I can I head home, looking behind me the whole way to see if I'm being followed. I sit in my apartment in a zombie-like state. I've never felt this sexually aroused and my body wastes no time reminding me how much I've enjoyed our encounters. Then again, I am also scared shitless. What have I encouraged? I need to tell someone about this, but what do I say? My complicity with his actions, and my lack of action hardly strengthens my case if I go to the police.

I grab a pen and paper and decide that I'm going to document everything. This way, should anything happen, at least there'll be a record of it. Meanwhile, I try to hang onto Rosalie's words. My mind instead likes to remind me that I'm more likely going to hell.

oOo

FRIDAY

I step onto the crowded tube and tuck myself quickly to the side of the door, by the glass partition, trying to disappear, but not brave enough to miss this. I want to be here, but I just can't reconcile myself to my apparent acceptance of it. This is foolhardy. This is dangerous. This is the most exhilarating thing I have ever done, and it disturbs me beyond words. I run through the things I have to do today; the tour, my presentation – anything to distract my thoughts.

Before I know it the train is slowing down as it approaches the next stop. I can tell that I am agitated because I am starting to get aroused. A small thrill runs through me, one I've never had before. I am in public. I can't believe that, as instructed, I am not wearing underwear. I mustn't get too excited, I definitely don't want to draw attention to myself. It feels illicit and, for want of a better word, naughty. I allow myself a small smile and take a deep breath. None of this makes sense…. I've never reacted like this to the men I've known, why the hell would I react like this to a stranger? Again, I try to remember Rosalie's words, but frankly it is all too much and I screw my eyes shut as the train stops. I open them when the doors open and he steps in.

It might be because I have accepted my fate, but for a reason I can't explain I feel bold enough to immediately look up and meet his eyes, holding them as he stops directly in front of me. He puts a hand against the glass near my head, effectively boxing me against the glass partition behind me and the now closed door on my other side. In this position he shields me from the rest of the people in the carriage.

"Good morning." He says softly. "Now, let's see what we have here." There's that nasty undertone to his voice that makes me wonder if I have really judged this situation correctly. As if a switch has been turned, I am yet again scared. Have I learned nothing over the last week?

He brings his free hand to my hip and I flinch. He chuckles, not easing my apprehension. His hand rests there for a moment before he moves it under my long coat, and finds the hem of my skirt. His eyes don't leave me as his fingers skim my tights before tracing a line upwards on the inside of my thigh. They move over the lace elastic to find my bare flesh just above.

He raises his eyebrows. "Thigh highs?"

"I thought I'd surprise you." The words coming out of my mouth don't sound like me. Where has this confidence come from? For a second he is just as taken aback as I am by this and part of me is elated.

"Is that right?" He looks as if he is excited about my daring. Then I realize that I've just pushed the bar higher for him. I'm not sure if this is such a good thing. It's not as if this is repartee between friends.

His fingers are almost at my center and I am trembling. I've been frustrated since yesterday, and I still can't explain to myself why I didn't bring myself release last night. Now the answer is screaming at me and I can't ignore it any more. I like the fact that he is audacious enough to do this. It excites me. For once I am not in control. I have this odd and totally irrational thought that his confidence might rub off on me. Even more bizarrely I like this thought.

His fingers find some of my wetness on my upper thigh, and he sighs softly. It's an unexpected reaction, and makes all my muscles tighten. I am so wound up that I am practically panting, and as he stills his fingers just shy of where I want them to be I can't help but whimper softly. For crying out loud, since when do I whimper? His smirk widens. He is clearly enjoying the power he has over me. He moves forward and leans to my ear.

"Put your arms around me." He demands.

Hesitantly I put one arm around his neck and the other around his waist. This brings the hard contours of his body closer to mine, and I can now feel _all_ of him pressing against my hip. This itself triggers another flash of excitement through me, I whimper (again with the whimpering?) slightly louder and I feel myself getting even wetter. _I_ have done that to him.

He brings the hand near my head down to my shoulder and slides it to the nape my neck, his fingers tangling themselves in the hair there.

"You are to be completely quiet. Any noise and this will end immediately. Nod if you understand".

I nod. He watches intently as I bite my lip. His eyes narrow and I nearly shout out as he suddenly pinches my upper thigh. I certainly wasn't expecting this and it stings like hell. Whether he likes it or not I am very glad I've been biting my lip. It has stopped me from making any noise, so I continue to do so.

"Impressive." Is his only comment as he gently strokes the area he pinched a moment ago, soothing away the pain and shock. Now that I know that he is not beyond doing such things my body is on alert, hyper-aware of where he is touching and of his body. I am even more excited than before and if I'm being really honest with myself, the fact that we are surrounded by so many people, unaware of what we are doing, is adding to my arousal.

His fingers now start to move up again, and he finds the source of my wetness. As he glides over it, I shiver, his finger continuing its journey upwards until it rests on my clit.

He is jostled slightly as passengers disembark the train at a station but his finger remains still on me. It feels as though all the blood in my body is trying to make its way to that area. I long for friction… some movement… anything but this stillness. It's too frustrating and I buck my hips forward into him. The movement gives me a small amount of satisfaction, but as soon as I do this, his fingers at the nape of my neck pull vigorously at the short hairs there. It fucking hurts and I stop moving altogether.

"No."

He is still pulling my hair and I can feel tears forming as I close my eyes and try to concentrate on not making a noise. Then I feel the finger on my clit moving in exactly the way I have wanted it to. The pain of the hair pulling and the pleasure of his fingers mix to make an intense cocktail of feeling. I have never been as aware of my body as I am in this moment. He stops both hands just as suddenly as he started. I feel abandoned and immediately want more of anything he may give me. The part of my mind that is still trying to function on a rational level is terrified by this. Do I really have no self respect or self regard for my safety? Now I know I certainly can't trust him. This is someone who is more than willing to hurt me. This is not what I want.

I am snapped out of my thoughts by his next words.

"Ready?"

I look at him confused just before he swiftly pushes two curled fingers into me and rubs my clitoris with his thumb. It is so unexpected that it ignites every nerve ending in my body and I come apart without warning. It takes the whole of what's left of my concentration to stop from crying out, and this effort seems to prolong my climax as he continues to move his fingers within me.

My body sags forward against his shoulder, and to the outside world it must look as though I am clutching my lover.

I regain my senses as he pulls his long fingers gently out of me. He brings his hand out from under my coat and his other from behind my neck. He puts that hand into his pocket and pulls out a cloth handkerchief. I watch him with wide eyes as he wipes his fingers clean and pockets the handkerchief again.

"Your stop I believe."

I blink as the train slows at the station. He is right. I straighten up as I'm still leaning on him heavily, and I'm suddenly embarrassed by the fact. My legs feel like jelly and I vaguely realize that I've never come standing up before. I wonder if I'll be able to walk.

The doors open, and he must see my quandary. He seems very happy about it. "Want help to work?"

I am horrified and shake my head finding the energy to push passed him and onto the platform just as the doors close. Once on the platform, I turn. He is watching me from the carriage as it starts to move off, taking him away from me. I am in a daze as I walk out of the station. I can't believe what I've just done. Half of me is elated. I never knew I had it in me. The other half is getting ready to unleash my conscience. When this haze disperses, I know there's going to be an almighty battle between the two.

oOo

There is a panicky atmosphere at work. Riley is in a frenzy of nervousness, and it's rubbed off on the rest of us. Unlike everyone else I am glad. This will hold off the memories of my journey into work.

I get ready to start my Friday morning tour. I have a group of about ten people and am preparing my handouts while people run around me. Riley paces nearby, biting his nails. It seems our benefactor has just called in saying that he'll be coming in for the funding meeting an hour late. That suits me perfectly as I'll be done with my tour and will be to around after all to counter any of Laurent's bitchiness about my work.

Rosalie comes up to me. "You look better." She observes. She nods to Laurent, who is fuming in the corner of the room looking as annoyed as I feel happy about the delay in the presentations. He has been clearly hoping for the opportunity to promote his research. "I look forward to the cat fight later on." She says, and I laugh with her.

oOo

Riley, Laurent and I stand in the Reading Room waiting for the man who will decide the fate of our coming year. The museum needs this in order to keep up its high profile edge over other international institutions. I need it in order to keep my job. There aren't any other job openings that are as specific to my interests as this one. I don't want to lose it. I nervously arrange the papers on the desk in front of me when I hear the door behind me open and Riley scurrying over to the person that's just entered. I hear him mumbling and then clearing his throat to get my attention.

I take a deep breath, turn and freeze as soon as I see who is standing with Riley.

I stop breathing.

I'd know those golden eyes anywhere. I looked into them this morning, and the enormity of what I've done hits me.

I am fucked.

"Bella, I'd like you to meet Mr. Cullen from the Foundation."

oOo

**Author's Note: **

**Another homage is paid here, this time to a different FF story.**

**Next chapter within 24 hours... **


	3. Chapter 3 Reveal

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Nonetheless do you really want to be a thief and plagiarize this story?**

**Rated M. Younger readers cover your eyes now please.**

**oOo**

**Author's Note:**

**This chapter is for all of the readers who left the kindest reviews imaginable. Without your encouragement this chapter would ****simply not exist. Thank you.**

**Spring Hale, MasenVixen and alice310, you are the best previewers. The time you've taken to look over this and give comments has been amazing.**

**Songster, where would I be without you? Certainly not embarking on this, that's for sure.**

**oOo**

Our doubts are traitors,  
And make us lose the good we oft might win,  
By fearing to attempt.

**from: Measure for Measure, Act I Scene IV**

**by William Shakespeare**

FRIDAY continued…

I gape. It's the only thing I can do. My mouth is suddenly dry, throat tight and I can feel the blood draining out of my cheeks.

_What have I done? I am so screwed_.

He holds his hand out to me, waiting for me to take it. I look at it and then at his eyes. Their soft golden color contrasts with the piercing look that is being directed at me. I can't make my mind up as to what the look means, and am distracted by Riley fidgeting. He is getting edgy; I am taking longer than etiquette calls for to accept the hand being offered to me.

Slowly, I bring my right hand limply up to meet it. I feel strange; detached, as if I'm watching this from the opposite side of the room.

His fingers curl around mine jarring me back into my body by how cold they are. I gaze down at them and suddenly remember where they have been. In an instant the blood is back in my cheeks; the sudden change making me feel faint.

I glance back at his face and see a hint of the smirk I've come to know. Still holding my hand, he leans forward slightly.

"Miss Swan, I believe."

I still can't find my voice and simply nod, although through the midst of my confusion I manage to notice he doesn't call me by my professional title, Dr. Swan. It annoys me, but this is instantly forgotten as he continues...

"Have we met before? I could have sworn we have."

My brain is in a haze of mortification and embarrassment. Is he testing me to see how I will react? I have no idea how I should handle this situation. Do I pretend that nothing has happened between us when he is so clearly toying with me? How am I going to be able to hold my head up and be taken seriously when I have let him use me in the most wanton manner? How can I now secure my position, or validate my work, when I've undermined myself only three hours earlier?

I am hoping that the ground will do me a favor and open up to swallow me. It'll be best all around, and will get me out of having to deal with this disastrous situation.

The heat in my cheeks is now unbearable, and the walls of the room seem to be slowly moving. The room feels too small for all of us, and my limbs suddenly feel far heavier than they should.

"Are you feeling alright, Miss Swan?"

I raise my eyes to his again, and this time frown when what I see surprises me. He looks… well, he looks concerned. Riley, who is still at his side hopping from one foot to the other, now also looks at me and gets even more jumpy. If there's one thing English men can't cope with, it is women who 'make a scene'; as they describe anything that draws unwanted attention to them.

The scrutiny of these two men is doing nothing to pull me out of how I am feeling, in fact it's making things worse. In my peripheral vision I catch Laurent rolling his eyes, and in an instant I am grounded and the room has righted itself. I know what he is assuming, and if he thinks for one moment that the fainting-damsel-in-distress is an act I would stoop to use in order to help my cause, he has another thing coming.

I find my voice, which surprises me by being deceptively steady and clear. I could almost hug Laurent for how he has inadvertently helped me... well, if it wouldn't make me want to vomit that is.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you. Shall we begin?" I turn back to the table and pick up the papers there before moving to stand next to Laurent.

I feel _his_ eyes on me every step of the way. I try to ignore it. It's difficult. I am distracted by the memory of our earlier meeting; his smell, his closeness, the danger, the heat of my skin... I'm beginning to blush at the thought...

No. My brain reminds me that I must be determined. He is not going to use this unfortunate situation against me. I have to stay focused on why we are here. This is more important than anything else.

Riley is about to combust with agitation when the tall, handsome gentleman we are all here to see turns to him, pre-empting his spiel.

"I understand that you have another department that would like to reallocate the Foundation's funding. I'd be interested to hear how it would be used."

Holy crap. This is not good. He is cutting right to the chase and it sounds as though he is seriously considering this possibility. This is bad news for me. I need a chance to put my case forward.

"Well, Laurent is best equipped to explain his idea." Riley is spluttering again and sweat is starting to gather on his upper lip. He looks relieved that he is no longer the focus of attention. My heart sinks further. There is no way I'll be able to count on him to help me in any way. I'm on my own.

In marked contrast to Riley, Laurent steps forward, rolling confidently on the balls of his feet as he starts.

"As you are aware, my department has been concentrating its efforts on the interesting ceramic artifacts that have been coming through from the ongoing excavation in Sicily. We are identifying and cataloging them for our already extensive database, which I think you'll agree is of more use to the museum than the more ah, _whimsical_ _interests_, of some of my younger colleagues…" He trails off, looking pointedly at me.

I know I am staring at Laurent, but really, I can't believe the audacity of the man.

"Are you suggesting, Laurent, that the work the Foundation _specifically_ asked me to do is… what did you call it, oh yes, 'whimsical'?"

The words are out of my mouth before I can think through the consequences of what I'm saying. Now that I've started, I can't seem to stop.

"I'm sure that Mr. Cullen will be more than happy to explain to you the Foundation's reasons for hiring me, but irrespective of that I'd like to remind you of what _we've_ achieved. For a start, my work has helped illustrate that Homo sapiens interacted more with Homo Neanderthalensis than previously believed. This has generated a great deal of interest and exposure for the Museum. There's the BBC documentary that will be broadcast this summer, as well as the international conference we are organizing for the end of the year. Helping the Foundation and Museum's profile with such work is a specific requirement of all our contracts. I am hitting my 'Impact' quota and then some – maybe you can give us an example of how your work has contributed to this? Why don't you remind us again of exactly how easy it is to access your archaic 'database'?"

I need to draw breath, so stop there. I look around the room. Laurent is looking shocked at my outburst. This time Riley seems to be the one wishing that the ground would now open up underneath him. I know just how he feels but given how little support he has shown me, I can't bring myself to care. And Mr. Cullen… He is looking at me, seemingly contemplating what I've just said, his eyes unwaveringly locked onto my face but his blank expression giving nothing away. I can feel my cheeks re-heating at the realization that he is scrutinizing me. I don't want to be the center of such attention. He is making me feel very self conscious. I take a deep breath, and try to calm the anger that Laurent has ignited.

I am annoyed at my lack of restraint. I have let Laurent get to me when I need to be cool and calm. I know the best thing I can do now is keep my mouth closed. There is no way I can take these words back although I wish I could have said it all in a less abrasive way. I know Laurent is clever enough to twist my outburst against me, but there's nothing I can do about it.

Laurent recovers quickly. He grins as he begins with a patronizing "Bella, I think…"

He doesn't get further than that before our patron speaks over him.

"An interesting observation, Miss Swan. Thank you for highlighting the differences in your approaches."

This is said so dispassionately that it is obvious I really haven't helped my cause at all. Why could I not hold my tongue? My insides are beginning to twist as I realize the very real effect this one meeting is about to have on my career.

"Would you care to tell me, Miss Swan, what it is you are seeking from the Foundation?"

This is it, the only chance I'll now have to put forward my proposal.

"My research to date indicates that the cave drawings in Southern France could well show the beginnings of early pictographic language. They appear in caves ranging from 45,000 to 10,000 years ago and I am particularly focusing on one set of patterns. In my view they could represent a word or concept; a theory that hasn't been previously explored. I would like to continue..."

He interrupts me. "And how does this link to your wider research into human evolution? I believe that is what you were hired to study." Sarcasm seems to be edging into his tone. It's making me nervous and my heart is starting to pound.

Shit. He's cut right to the heart of my work, and without any evidence, it's not one I particularly want to articulate. Of course, this is the moment Laurent chooses to belittle what I do.

"My young colleague seems to think that there could be some evidence that this pattern might have actually been the work of some subspecies which developed alongside homo sapiens and who thus contributed to The Great Leap Forward." He shakes his head, leans forward conspiratorially towards Cullen and continues, "She wants to prove that there was interaction between the two species; something that is highly unlikely given that there has never been any evidence of this whatsoever. Isn't that right Bella?" The sneer in his voice is quite spectacular even by my standards.

"Thank you, Laurent, for your concise summary of my work, although unlike you I would never speculate so wildly as to what might be the relationship between homo sapiens and any other subspecies without thorough scrutiny."

I am so tempted to go on to bitch about his research that I have to bite my lip. This is not a good time to appear petty. I already feel I've made a fool of myself by rising to Laurent's provocation.

Cullen simply looks at us. We all squirm. What is he deciding?

He looks to Laurent. "And your proposal?"

And with that Laurent is on a roll, "Well, as you know as an expert in ceramic typology I've been cataloging the different data that has been coming in from the various excavations we're involved with. If the Cullen Foundation would redirect funds to my department, we'd be able to hire a new in-house assistant who could start devising a computerized version of our current data system…"

Laurent takes a full ten minutes to cover his pitch. As he does so I continue to despair. He has managed to sabotage my own presentation, and while he's is as dull as his research; I begrudgingly have to admit that he is doing a good job of selling it.

My heart is sinking fast by the time Laurent is wrapping up. Cullen is nodding his approval of his presentation.

"Interesting." Riley and Laurent are looking at our benefactor in anticipation of his decision.

Cullen turns to Riley, "Thank you for organizing this presentation. It'll be a difficult choice to make, and I need some time to make my decision. In the meantime the Foundation is having a fundraising event tomorrow evening and I'd like both Miss Swan and Professor de Caen there in case I have further questions. I will give you my thoughts on Monday morning."

He starts towards the door about to leave. I can't believe what he is saying. My instincts are one step ahead of me and I step towards him, effectively blocking his way out of the room.

"I have my presentation to give, Mr. Cullen," I remind him. There is no way I can let him leave without him at least listening to my proposal. I've prepared for this, and I need to fight for what I love. I can't lose this job.

He no more than glances at me and then looks down at his watch. "I think I've heard quite enough, Miss Swan, to make my decision."

"How can you have when I haven't had a change to elaborate on my work?" I can't keep the incredulity out of my voice, although I take some comfort from the fact that it doesn't sound as wounded as I feel. How can he disregard my work so flippantly? No matter my serious lack of judgment, my work at the Museum has been flawless so far. I've been hitting all of the targets set out in my job spec, exceeding them in some cases, and I've certainly been extending my field of research. He must see that.

"I am already aware of your work, and it is clear that you have been busy. Now, if you'll excuse me."

And with that he sweeps out of the room and is gone.

I am in shock. There is no way this is going to go in my favor. Not only has Laurent made a full presentation, but he has also fucked me over.

I can feel my eyes starting to tear up but I'll be damned if I will let Riley and Laurent see me cry.

Laurent is beaming. This had gone very well for him. He turns to me and opens his mouth, but before he can get a word out I manage to hiss, "Don't you dare."

He has grace enough to shut his mouth and watch me gather my things as Riley begins rambling on about the importance to the Foundations' continued support.

oOo

Tears are still threatening as I walk down the steps of the Reading Room. I pause at the bottom of them and squeeze my eyes shut, drawing in a deep breath.

_This can't be happening._

_I can't be about to lose everything I've worked so hard for again._

It's too much. I can feel the terror of this thought bubbling up within me. I have to stop it. I have to... and without warning the specter of James looms up in my mind's eye. I am immediately transported back to a year ago. I was so desperate. A hollow shell of myself, battered by his betrayal after I had given him everything of me; my expertise, my trust, my confidence, my love... I might have found strength in myself since then and taken control of my life, but it has been my work that has really saved me. It has been my life preserver. The thought of having to start over is terrifying. I just don't think I can do it again.

I shake my head to get these unbidden thoughts from my mind and take another deep breath. I _will_ make it to the office before I allow myself to fall apart. How could I let this happen? No, this isn't the time to think about this, just five more minutes and then I can beat myself up all I want… I just need to get to my office.

Gathering myself, I take one last deep breath and head down I make my way around the Reading Room towards the north wing of the Museum where my office is.

"Bella?"

The call echoes around the inner courtyard. I look up and stop in my tracks. Besides the Native American totem poles next to the café ahead of me stands Mr. Cullen. He is on his cell phone and staring right at me.

"Bella?"

I am momentarily confused. It's Rosalie that is calling for me, but I don't see her, my eyes are fixed on him.

"Bella," Rosalie's by my side, "so, how did it go?"

I can't say anything. I'd cry if I did. In front of me his eyes don't leave mine.

She is now concerned, I can hear it in her voice, "Are you okay?"

I still can't say anything, and it is all I can do to slowly shake my head.

My insides are churning. I feel vaguely sick, but what I'm trying to hold at bay is the overwhelming feeling that through my own stupid actions I have lost the very thing that gives me satisfaction and joy. My job.

The trajectory of whole world feels as though it has been knocked off course, and is hurtling into uncharted and unsought for territory. I don't want this. What am I going to do? And the questions I've been trying to keep back are threatening to spill over. And still I can't stop staring at him; my mind racing, my body paralyzed.

"What's wrong?" I can tell she's really worried now, but still can't speak. "Bella, look at me." And she physically turns me to face her. The shock of the movement snaps me out of my trance, and as I look up at her I can feel my bottom lip beginning to quiver slightly. If I talk, I'll cry.

Rose's eyes scan my face, and her frown softens while her lips harden. "That bastard, I'm going to have his guts for garters." Her Britishism would normally amuse me, the bloody graphicness of her words in contrast to how polite the British make it sound, but right now her loyalty almost tips me over the edge.

I manage to whisper, "It's not Laurent."

Her brow furrows more, but before she can ask more someone else has approached and she turns her head to whoever it is. I can see that she is taken aback by the person standing next to her.

"Miss Hale, I presume? I think Miss Swan wasn't feeling too well in our meeting."

The rich, smooth voice I have come to recognize from my meeting and from the subway makes me stumble back slightly and I feel a cool hand on my arm, pulling me slightly towards him. There is something inappropriate about the gesture. It sends a shiver of fright down my spine. Inexplicably, at the same time his touch also sends a flash of energy through me, particularly to the last place I want to be reminded of. I have never reacted like this before to anyone, not even James, and I try to ignore the sensation as the energy settles between my legs and continues to pulse.

This is so very wrong, particularly now that I know exactly who he is, but still the pulses refuse to stop. I can feel the heat in me increasing. I am aware again of his scent surrounding me as he supports me and my heart starts to race. Every part of my skin feels sensitive, as though each pore is trying to absorb something of him. I want to move away from him but my body is refusing to. _You can't want him like this. _My mind is making a desperate plea to my body.

I try not to look at those strange colored, intense eyes. I can't read them at all - so condescending in our meeting and now seemingly edged with concern. It's too confusing; I can't process it all, my mind on overload.

Everything has suddenly become all too close again, and I feel increasingly trapped. Memories from the Tube journey this morning resurface again and are mixing uncomfortably with the terrible meeting we've just had. I try to pull my arm away from him, but his fingers tighten, almost painfully, before letting me go. Was that a warning? My indignation flares up. _How dare he._

Rosalie is still looking at him, and starts frowning. She hasn't caught our exchange but her arm instinctively comes protectively around my waist. She looks at me with concern and then to him with a scowl of suspicion.

"And you are?"

"Mr. Cullen."

They are staring at each other with open hostility, but he seems to relent under Rosalie's intimidating scrutiny as he elaborates, "From the Foundation."

He looks at me and again I am frozen. "Miss Swan, when you have fully recovered, I wonder if you would send me all of your research to date. I'd like to look it over before Monday."

I open my mouth to speak, but it is Rosalie that answers. "I'm sure she'll be able to get it to you this afternoon. Now, if you'll excuse us." And with her arm around me firmly guiding the way, we walk away from him and to the office we both share.

oOo

The cramped space has two small desks in it and four ancient metal filing cabinets. There is no room for anything else, not even a window.

As soon as the door closes behind us, the room is filled with the sound of harsh, dry rasps. They are coming from me. I can't seem to get enough air into my lungs.

My mind has begun unpicking my defenses, and I surrender to the fact that I have brought this on myself. Why did I lose my temper with Laurent? Why did I let him take control of the presentation like that?

Deep down I know why; I was thrown for a loop by the appearance of my subway stranger. _Huh, not so much a stranger though is he? _ My snarky thoughts retort as they remember my morning encounter. My insides churn as the memory crashes over me, mixing with the mortification of my meeting and where that leaves me. Why did I foolishly allow a stranger to take such advantage of me? Why did I expose myself in such a way?

My rasps are getting harsher, but now tears are starting to flow. Rosalie's arms are around me, and she gives me a squeeze before leaning across to her desk for a handkerchief and handing it to me.

"It's okay, Bella," she says.

"No, it's not," I sob back.

"Look at me," I do as she says and it helps calm me, "it _will_ be alright because whatever happens we will _make_ it alright. Now, we need to get your files together for Mr. Cullen." At the name I start sobbing again.

Rosalie casts her stern eye over me and counters, "Enough of that for now, darling. We need to organize what we're going to do, and I need you focused. We will deal with how you are feeling this evening over several bottles of wine, but right now we need to get through this afternoon. Agreed?"

She is like a military commander giving her troops one last speech before facing the enemy. She leaves no room for questions about what she says. I nod in response feeling about five years old.

"Good. Now, where are your files?"

oOo

A large glass of red wine is set down in front of me.

"Did he say anything else?" Angela has been listening to my account of my meeting this morning.

"No. After he met me and Rose, I sent him the files through the internal post and didn't see him again."

"I did," states Rosalie as she sits down.

"What?"

"Yeah, I didn't tell you earlier, but I saw him speaking to Riley, or rather Riley trying to suck up to him. He looked bored as hell, I almost felt sorry for him. Almost…" She's trying to get me to smile, but I can't bring myself to. "He had your file though, so at least we know it got to him."

"That's good," Angela agrees, "It sounds like Laurent really pulled a number on you, Bella."

Angela knows of my past run-ins with Laurent. Her advice has always been balanced and her observations always accurate; it's the lawyer in her.

I have a lot to thank Rosalie for and my friendship with Angela is at the top of that very long list. She introduced me to Angela a couple of weeks after I had started at the Museum and I instantly liked her. Despite their personalities being polar opposites, they are a perfect combination; Angela's quiet to Rosalie's brashness, Rosalie's instinctive responses to Angela's reflective ones.

Whatever their differences though, both are fiercely loyal. Initially, when I first got to know them, I couldn't bring myself to open up and ask their advice on anything, and yet they would always seem to know when to insist on taking me out for the evening to get me out of whatever funk I was in. I was taken aback by how supportive they were; practically strangers taking such interest and care in a foreign visitor. Since those first meetings we have met every Friday night to debrief on our working week and plan our weekends. Without them I would still be lost and very lonely in this city.

I snap out of my reminisces as Rosalie agrees, "That bastard needs a taste of his own medicine."

They are both being the good friends they are, but their words do little to make me feel better. Their advice is good, but I can't rely on it when I haven't told them the whole story. How can I tell them? I feel a fool for what I've done, how I've acted, and how I've reacted. It's my own fault, and there is nothing I can do about it now. I should have known better than to throw caution to the wind. I should have learned this by now.

I shut my eyes to ward off the hurt that is twisting in my stomach. I try not to think about it, but I can't stop myself. I really just want to go home but I know Rosalie won't let me until alcohol has numbed me a little more.

"…he's a fine specimen though, I wouldn't mind studying him a little closer."

I haven't been following what they've been saying, "Who?"

"Your Mr. Cullen," Rose replies.

"He is hardly mine," I say a little too forcefully. She looks surprised.

I'm being unfair to them by acting like this and yet not telling them the full story. How do I start? What do I say? _Oh yes, he is, and by the way, he works magic with his fingers while on the underground._ It's hardly something I can tell them about. I am so embarrassed by what I've allowed to happen. What would they think of me?

My stomach flips again remembering this morning. _Why did I go along with it? Why did I get on that Tube this morning? Why did I let him touch me like that? Why did he pick me?_

The questions start coming faster and faster. With that last thought however, my mood shifts completely. _Yes, why _did_ he pick me? What reason could he have?_

I'm bemused. _Did he _want_ to embarrass me? He must have known it would have an effect me, that it would affect my presentation and performance? _

But why? If he wanted to fire me, he was well within his rights simply to say that funds wouldn't be available for me research next year. No, he was _wanting_ to humiliate me. My jaw tenses at the thought. Am I really that much of a pushover - so easily played and manipulated? Is that why James felt he could do the same?

It strikes me that I have always had a tendency to be passive. So am I going to simply run away from it again? Cullen might well have the power to take my job away from him, but why should I make it easy for him? He's not going to get his way without having to justify it to me. He didn't let me say my piece. Not only is that rude but it's unprofessional. I'll be damned if I will allow that. I've put my job before anything else; it means too much to me. He is _not_ going to dismiss it, or me for that matter, with such disrespect. That is something I will not allow.

Suddenly, I am beyond furious.

I am dimly aware that Rosalie and Angela are back to bitching about Laurent as a stream of expletives runs through my mind.

I raise my glass interrupting them.

"You're right. Fuck him," as I lift my glass and drain it in one.

Angela and Rosalie join me.

What they don't realize is that I am not toasting Laurent.

oOo

**End notes:**

**Well done to lovebel and Mmelisse, both of whom correctly identified ****the references made in previous chapters. The characters that Bella is reading about in Chapter One, Luke and Claire, are borrowed from Stranger than Fiction by MasenVixen. A fantastic fanfiction story that I would highly recommend.**

**The reference to power panties in Chapter Two comes from tby789's ****classic The Office which, alas, is no longer online.**

**oOo **

**'Impact' is a new proposed, and somewhat controversial, form of assessment of the work produced by academics and researchers in UK universities and institutes. If you'd like to know more about it an interesting article can be found on:**

**http:/entertainment (dot) timesonline (dot) co (dot) uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/the_tls/article6915986 (dot) ece**

**To know more about Bella's research into The Great Leap Forward a good place to start is wikipedia (dot) org/wiki/Great_Leap_Forward_(evolution)**

**oOo**

**Dare I ask what you think? Continue?**


	4. Chapter 4 The Fundraiser

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Nonetheless do you really want to be a thief and plagiarize this story?**

**Rated M. Younger readers cover your eyes now please.**

**oOo**

**Author's Note:**

**Songster is the best beta in the world. She knows when to hold my hand and when to give me a nudge in the right direction.**

**Spring Hale, MasenVixen and alice310, have I told you that you are the best previewers? I wasn't lying.**

**Many thanks to all of you who have reviewed. It is so encouraging and I love hearing your theories. Keep them coming.**

**oOo**

"When written in Chinese the word crisis is composed of two characters. One represents danger, and the other represents opportunity."  
**John F. Kennedy**

SATURDAY

The dream is hazy and I can't seem to keep a hold of it as the buzzing starts.

There's a stranger in the half darkness with me, but I can't quite see his face. There's something vaguely unsettling and yet familiar about him and I can't place it. It's as though I'm standing in moving fog that won't quite clear enough for me to see through it.

The buzzing sound continues. I wish it would stop so I could concentrate on working out who he is.

It doesn't.

Now I'm also becoming aware that my head hurts. A lot.

What's happening? I can't figure out why the pain seems to be radiating from the center of my skull and right through my body. I can't be sure if this is part of my dream or not. The twilight is never changing, but the man now seems to be more distant as the noise gets louder.

I try to open my eyes but that's proving to be a very bad idea. The pain has just intensified, and now there is no denying it... I am awake.

I try to turn over, but my head screams in protest. It hurts.

I groan. It hurts.

I'm not enjoying this one bit. At least the buzzing seems to have stopped.

_Why do I feel like this?_

The images start flashing through my mind. Last night. Red wine. Bar food. Five Margaritas.

_Why did I ever agree to so much alcohol? _

I now remember that each of those Margaritas was my idea. _What the hell was I thinking?_

I groan again. I don't mind the pain so much this time as it stops me from thinking about why I was drinking in the first place… Mr. A. C. Even just thinking the nickname we gave him last night, makes me grind my teeth. It was Rosalie who came up with it so we could talk about him without fear of someone else knowing who we were talking about. Mr. Asshole Cullen. His insistence on using titles, yet downplaying my own, was something I hadn't been able to let go of. If he referred to Laurent as Professor, then he should have referred to me as Dr. Swan. I earned it. Reducing me to Miss was patronizing at best.

I can feel myself getting angry again as I remember our meeting. Anger and hangover do not happy bedfellows make.

In an effort to distract myself, I slowly get out of bed and stumble my way to the bathroom.

I look in the mirror and see the makeup I was wearing last night smeared across the side of my face. I am so hung over though that my brain can't be bothered to be concerned about it right now. Instead, it is easier to heed my body's call and head first for toilet and then the shower.

oOo

It is way past two in the afternoon. I'm just out of the shower and in the kitchen making a simple pasta with a fresh tomato sauce from scratch. This keeps me occupied enough to not start brooding.

My phone buzzes and it's a message from Angela saying she'll be over in a couple of hours.

I frown at the message. I'm not expecting her and start to text back when it hits me… she's coming over to help me prepare for tonight.

_Shit_.

Oh no… I really don't feel so good. Again.

I've completely forgotten about it and the fact that I am being forced to see _him _this evening.

The hangover momentarily forgotten, I'm now feeling queasy at this very thought. The wave of mortification that breaks over me at the memory of the meeting yesterday, or to be more specific, both meetings, is replaced by a wave of anger crashing over it, all but washing the previous feeling away.

Now I remember why five Margaritas seemed like a good idea. My anger instantly takes a hold of me and I can barely contain it. I go back to chopping tomatoes in the hope that it will distract me from how I'm feeling.

It doesn't. I'm fuming at how rude he was at the presentation. He didn't give me a chance to make my full appeal. Instead he seemed to imply that I hadn't been fulfilling the work I'd been hired for. How dare he question my work without giving me a chance to defend myself. I'm good at what I do. It's taken me a long time to get here, but I've earned it, and have always exceeded what was expected of me. So what the hell gives him the right to treat me in this way…

My hands have been busy but I haven't been taking much notice at what I've been doing. I look down to see that the tomatoes are now a pulpy, bloody-looking mess. I've basically massacred them. He has wound me up so much. Him and Laurent… fucking Laurent loved every minute of it.

I am incensed again at the thought and only snap out of it when somebody knocks on my front door.

It's my neighbor.

"They left this with me when they tried to deliver it this morning and there was no answer."

We both stare at the ominous looking black rectangular box he is holding.

oOo

_**For tonight.**_

Angela peers at the card and then the box it is attached to.

"Are you sure it's from him?"

"Who else would it be from? The card is embossed with the Foundation logo."

My back is to the table and I am studiously avoiding looking at the package sitting on top of it. It's been in my apartment for three hours and for all of that time it has sat here taunting me. It feels as if I'm in the presence of Pandora's box, and there is no way I am going to make her mistake.

"Why would he be sending you something for tonight?"

This is the million dollar question and the hardest one to answer. Last night I filled Angela in on my disastrous presentation, how I hadn't been able to put my case forward and been railroaded into attending the fundraiser. Like the loyal friends she and Rosalie are, they had gone from speculating about how Laurent might have hijacked the Museum's dashing patron before the meeting, to sharpening their nails in case they should ever meet the bronze haired bastard. They concluded that however Laurent might have gotten to him, there was simply no excuse for not letting me have my say.

What I have so far continued to fail to mention to them is anything about my previous encounter with Mr. Cullen. There was no way that I was going to do that last night, and there is no way I can now do it with Angela. I know what I would think if it was one of them telling me. I would think them an idiot for courting such danger.

"I have no idea."

I'm not lying. I can't imagine what it is he has sent me. Or why. The what is more pressing. Given the context I have encountered him in, who knows what he is sending me. There is no way I can risk it while Angela is there.

The box remains unopened. Angela wants me to open it, but I refuse.

"You of all people should be advising me not to open it. He funds my work, which I hate to remind you, is on the line at the moment. I don't think accepting gifts from him is appropriate given the circumstances. You know what they say about strangers bearing gifts."

"I suppose you're right, but come on, you must be little bit tempted to open it... I mean what could a billionaire be sending you?"

"Your imagination is getting the better of you." I chastise her.

In truth though I am just as curious as to what is in the box, but I am not going to encourage any further contact with him than is absolutely necessary. At least at the Museum there are always people around... There is absolutely no way that I am going to get myself into a compromising situation with him again. I still am regretting it. _I can't believe…_ I stop myself from thinking anymore about that, particularly with Angela here. I need to keep myself together, and I definitely need to get through the next five hours without making more of a fool of myself.

The parcel lies on the kitchen counter as we go to my bedroom and look at the outfit we've laid out there.

"Well, what do you think?" Angela asks.

I look at it. We've picked out a black crepe pant suit with a tight tailored jacket and very baggy pants that seem as though they have stepped out of the 1930s. Under the jacket Angela has insisted I wear a figure-hugging satin halterneck top. Its gold color peeks out a little at the neckline of the jacket.

"It's fine. It's smart, elegant but not over the top. And I'll feel comfortable it in." This last thing is the most important. What I don't tell Angela is that because it's a pant suit I'll feel more protected from him.

"Hum," Angela isn't so convinced about the choice, she thinks I should be in a skirt, but she's not going to push it. I think she senses that it's just not going to happen. "Promise me you'll wear the heels. This is supposed to be a party remember."

I eye the shoes that she's pulled out from the back of the closet. I got them when I arrived in London when she and Rosalie took me to my first designer sale. I'd never been to anything like it, and I took it as an opportunity of reinventing myself. I was not going to be the damaged wreck I was when I left Harvard. I was going to try new things and break out of my shell. A months' salary later and I was the owner of a pair of brushed gold Christian Louboutin.

As Rosalie said, "You now own artwork."

Of course the first flush of new city and a new job passed, and I had yet to wear them. Breaking out of my usual routine was one thing, but the simple fact was that I just didn't go to the sort of events that required nearly $2,000 worth of footwear. Now, I am embarrassed by my extravagance.

Angela is giving me her stern look. There's no way I can get out of wearing them.

Begrudgingly, I agree. "Okay, I promise. Just pray that I don't end up breaking something."

She smiles and give me a tight hug and I know that she is satisfied. It's a small compromise frankly. I was more afraid that she'd continue to insist on a skirt. I let out an inner sigh of relief, cross fingers behind my back and wish for the best for tonight.

oOo

I am standing on the sidewalk outside the venue. It's another cold night and I pull my coat around me, not only to keep the chill out, but also to reassure myself.

The grey stone of Somerset House stands out against the large windows that are lit from within. Flaming torches blaze outside the building casting their flickering light up the sides of the impressive courtyard. They have clearly been set out for the fundraiser and add to the impression that I've stepped into the 18th Century, but for the noisy Saturday night traffic on this side of the gate.

The entrance to The Courtauld Institute is on the right of the main gateway. A couple ahead of me are making their way through the glass doors. Through them I can see a cluster of people, amongst them a shock of auburn hair. I instinctively know who it belongs to and my insides lurch uncomfortably.

I hesitate.

I am nervous. I have no idea who else will be at this event apart from the two people in the world I most want to avoid right now. One because I don't want to get embroiled in his professional bitchiness; the other because he is about to take away the thing that means the most to me in all the world and in the most painful and humiliating way. If he withdraws the funding for my research in favor of Laurent, it will look to the outside world as if I have failed somehow. No secret was made that they created the high profile role specifically for me and there will be the inevitable assumption that I didn't do a good enough job. That will mean getting another job is going to be difficult and I don't know what I'll do without my job. This turn with the funding has all happened so suddenly. And then there was our subway encounter.

_Oh why did I encourage that? Why did he pick me?_

With these thoughts racing through my mind I wonder why I have come here at all. I know he specifically asked for Laurent and I to attend in case he had any questions about our meeting yesterday, but really, he could just send an email. I want to be at home, tucked up in bed...

_No, I'll be damned if he will get the satisfaction of doing this so easily. I've done absolutely nothing wrong, and anyway, they were the ones who were desperate for me to do my research at the Museum. What has changed? Yes, he is going to have to explain to me exactly why the Foundation has made such a spectacular U-turn._ My brain gives me the courage I need to walk up the steps into the lobby of the Institute.

Pushing open the door, I am enveloped by the warm heat of the gallery. I've been here many times before. Not only is the Courtauld one of the best art history colleges in the world, but also boasts one of my favorite art galleries. It's a small space scattered over four floors and it houses some very fine examples of art from across the ages. But it is its collection of Impressionist art that I particularly love. I only wish I was here now under different circumstances.

I slip through the doors and standing just inside the lobby as I look around to see how I can get past this group without being spotted by any of them, not least the tall good-looking man at the center of them. A few people standing nearest to the door look in my direction and some of the men don't do much to hide the fact that they are checking me out. Two of them smile at me, and I quickly skirt around the group before they can start talking to me and make my way towards the staircase.

Cullen hasn't noticed me so far. This is good because the modicum of courage I had outside escapes me. Chills start running down my spine, while my skin feels clammy with nervousness. In fact I feel as though I am going to throw up if I have to talk to him now. I am not prepared. I'm just not ready to face him.

I think I've been able to pass unnoticed and at the stairs find an usher and ask him where the cloakroom is.

oOo

Depositing my overcoat I straighten my jacket and head towards to stairs that leads up to the gallery floors. No one has taken too much notice of me. They are far too busy with their sucking up. In my peripheral vision I can see the group in the lobby still talking as I pass them climbing the stairs and the nervousness that has been coiled up in my stomach eases slightly. He is busy, and with any luck I can get away without having to speak to him tonight.

I arrive at the first floor to be greeted by a waiter holding a tray of champagne flutes. Remembering the hangover I've only just got over I decline and ask where I might find a soft drink.

"The bar is upstairs on the top floor."

Thanking him I start to try to weave my way through the dense crowd to the staircase that continues upward at the other side of the corridor.

There are a ton of people on this floor. They have clearly been solely focused on getting to the first tray of drinks they can find, and I suspect the waiter I've just met is the most popular man on this floor. I make slow process, gently squeezing my way around groups of well turned out socialites that are greeting one another, air kissing, gossiping and generally being as false as their stereotype suggests.

This is not my scene at all. I can't take any of them seriously, and yet they somehow make me feel small; as though I shouldn't be here intruding on their beautiful gathering. Why has all my resolve to get answers from him evaporated? I try to regain it by remembering that I don't want to make it easy for him to fire me. While I'd like to take strength from this it echoes hollow.

About halfway down the corridor I begin to wonder if my quest for a soft drink is worth it. It is no easy feat in four inch heels, and the prospect of three more flights of stairs is not so appealing. How much damage could one small glass of champagne do? My hangover has passed, and maybe hair-of-the-dog is based on a scientific fact.

I glance behind me to see how far I need to return in order to get to the waiter and the nervous coil in me is suddenly wound up at such an accelerated speed it feels as if my stomach might have actually left my body.

He is about twenty feet away from me standing in front of the waiter.

He is looking at me. And he looks livid, jaw set, eyes blazing. He looks stunning in his fury. And terrifying.

Shit. I need to get away from him, and the only way to do that is to go up.

He takes a couple of steps towards me, and I take one back. My fight or flight instincts wrestle for a moment before, somewhat unsteadily in the heels, I turn and walk away as quickly as I can, weaving my way through the crowd. As I do I hear someone behind me call his name. If I'm lucky that might delay him.

I reach the stairs and glance back again. Yes. He has been caught by a group of twenty-somethings who are trying to impress him. I bolt up the stairs as quickly as Louboutin will allow me. Not fast enough for my liking.

I don't stop until I reach the top floor.

oOo

I'm aware I'm on borrowed time up here. If he wants to find me, he will. It's a small gallery and only one way down to the exit. I can only hope that he'll get so side-tracked that he'll forget about me.

As I stand at the bar, all thought of alcohol has disappeared. I need my wits about me if I'm going to have to speak to him. I give myself a little pep talk and remind myself of my anger from yesterday and my resolve to get some answers about what happened at the presentation. At the very least I want him to acknowledge that my work is good, but that the Foundation has chosen to go in a different direction. This decision is not a reflection on my abilities. Breathing deeply, I calm myself. I am ready to face him. That is until I hear the one other person I don't want to meet talking loudly at the other end of the bar.

"Yes, we'll advertise as soon as Mr. Cullen confirms my new assistant..." I freeze.

"...He'll confirm it on Monday"

I take a peek at him and see Laurent boasting to two young wannabes. They are looking eagerly at him, obviously vying for the potential job. _Oh. _My heart sinks. _Does this mean the decision has been made?_

I am so preoccupied by this new information that I jump a foot in the air when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

_Shit, I'm really not ready at all for this confrontation..._

I slowly turn trembling, and am met with dark brown eyes and a smile.

"Charles?"

"I believe you need rescuing."

"Are you my knight in shining armor?" I grin.

"I hope so. Just don't tell Ang."

"What are you doing here?"

"My old professor invited me. Actually I wasn't going to come, but when Angela told me you were coming under duress and wanting to avoid someone, how could I resist?"

I laugh at his reasoning and instantly feel better. I have an ally here, and someone I can trust.

He continues, "And now that I see how amazing you look, I know I've made the right choice."

"Stop it," I say as I blush at his words and changing the subject add, "Have you heard the sorry story?"

Charles is Angela's younger brother. They are close and I doubt she's kept my tale of woe to herself.

"I've had the edited version and I have my instructions. I am to be your chaperon for the evening. Now if you'll come this way I'll show you the gallery's latest acquisition." And taking my arm he leads me to the adjacent room.

oOo

Charles's distraction technique is quite something and it's getting late. I haven't seen him in a while and it's good to catch up with him. He is a Courtauld Institute alumni and now works for them. I first met him at one of Angela's parties and instantly felt comfortable with him. He's funny and a total nerd and loves what he does as much as I do. This makes for a certain shorthand between us. We both know that our work is the center of our worlds and we can talk about it freely without being afraid of boring the other. We get it and respect it.

I am standing in front of Degas' _La Petite Danseuse de Quatorze Ans_ while Charles goes in search of more soft drinks. The Courtauld has several Degas pieces and their current exhibition is on his sculpture. This one is currently on loan from Paris but complements the others the gallery has perfectly.

As I look at it I can't make my mind up if I like the bronze statuette or not. The young girl looks as if she's in a dance class waiting for instructions from her teacher. She's almost in a ballet pose, but her arms are behind her, fingers clasps and stretching downwards, and her face is angled upwards as if she is daydreaming. All in all it's a curious piece, naturalistic, rough and immediate. I bend down to take a closer look.

"It made quite an impact when it was first shown, you know."

I'm startled as I look to my left, not having heard anyone approach me.

"What?" I frown.

The tall handsome man next to me repeats what he said. I don't really hear what he says because I am transfixed by his extraordinary eyes. They are exactly the same color as someone else I know.

"…some thought that it captured blossoming youth, while others took offense at how primitive and crude she is. Quite a controversial piece."

My frown remains. He hasn't taken his eyes off me and I get the odd feeling that he isn't only talking about the statue. Who is this man, what does he want, and what is he talking about?

I'm about to open my mouth to ask him these very questions, in no particular order, when another voice behind us interrupts us.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The tone is harsh, and it's a demand from a clearly angry source.

We both turn around and my heart starts hammering at an unwelcome rate.

Yep. He's finally caught up with me, and judging by the tone his mood hasn't improved since the last time I saw him. Luckily though, the question isn't directed at me.

At the same time I see Charles approaching. He must see the anxiety in my face because he hurries over to stand at my side.

Mr. Cullen and the blond stranger next to me seem to be having some sort of unspoken face off, and it seems a good opportunity to leave them to it.

"Ah, Charles," I manage to mumble, "I was just coming to find you. I think I'm going to head off now."

He takes my cue, agrees that it's getting late, and we back away from the two men.

oOo

At the bottom of the stairs Charles is cornered by a colleague. Squeezing his shoulder I indicate that I'm going to find the washrooms before following the signs to where they are in the basement.

The stairs curl around and finish at an odd small indoor stone gazebo. It looks so out of place, and yet charming at the same time. Continuing to the left is a small lobby leading to the washrooms.

_Thank God this night is almost over. _ I feel as if I've been on a roller-coaster and I can't wait to get home and curl up in bed.

I am drying my hands and decide to get a taxi home. I just need to get away from here as fast as possible.

Leaving the bathroom I step into the mirrored lobby beyond and stop in my tracks.

I haven't escaped.

"You've been avoiding me."

oOo

**End Notes:**

**You can find out more about the sculpture that Bella is looking at on http:/en (dot) wikipedia (dot) org/wiki/La_Petite_Danseuse_de_Quatorze_Ans**

**The website for the Courtauld Institute can be found at http:/www (dot) courtauld (dot) ac (dot) uk. It really is a great little gallery, and if you find yourself in London I would recommend a visit. There's also a good cafe downstairs.**


	5. Chapter 5 Encounter

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Nonetheless do you really want to be a thief and plagiarize this story?**

**Rated M. Younger readers please move on.**

**oOo**

**Author's Note:**

**I am indebted, as ever, to my beta Songster. She is simply fabulous. **

**My previewers Spring Hale, MasenVixen (aka my own personal pimp) and alice310 are the best critics one could ask for.**

**My thanks to Emmy over at the Perv Pack's Smut Shack for her kind review, as well as to all of you who have reviewed, recommended and tweeted about this story. To say that I am surprised and touched that so many of you like this story is an understatement.**

**Finally, I know there are a lot of questions that need to be answered. Fear not, they will be, although not right now... Those with patience will be rewarded...**

**oOo**

And then the day came,  
when the risk  
to remain tight  
in a bud  
was more painful  
than the risk  
it took  
to blossom.

**from: Risk**

**by Anais Nin**

SATURDAY continued…

He is leaning casually against the mirrored wall opposite the door of the restroom. I know though that looks can be deceiving, particularly when it comes to him. This is calculated, and my heart is beating wildly. What does he want? And more importantly, how can I get away from him?

_I don't want to be alone with him; I don't want to compromise myself. _

All I want to do is to disappear. Or for him to disappear. I can't make up my mind which I'd prefer. One thing I know is that I'd rather be any place than here. I glance around.

"There's nowhere for you to go," he states as he stares at me. His eyes are gleaming but his face is deceptively blank.

"There's no-one here but you and me." And then he starts to smile. It's dangerous and I want to run but can't.

I am still on the threshold of the bathroom, holding the door open, frozen to the spot. He is dressed in a crisp white button-down shirt that's open at the top underneath a dark pinstriped suit. It fits him perfectly. It's loose, but fitted enough for me to see the shape of his body. He looks as if he has just stepped out of a Dolce & Gabbana photo shoot. I am in turmoil. Half of me wants to get as far away from him as I can while the other is actively encouraging me to lick him.

He is captivating; my body reacting to what it sees. And it is pleased with what it sees. Despite my fear, I can't seem to help but admire him. I can feel my desire gradually uncurling itself like a lazy cat in a warm patch of grass. It flexes its limbs before taking a long look in a very specific direction. It shocks me that I can identify this feeling so precisely. I've never reacted in this way before to anybody. The force of it now is startling. As the seconds tick by my arousal intensifies.

I hate this. I hate that he does this to me. I hate him.

Slowly, painfully slowly, he pushes himself off the mirror and takes three steps towards me, a predatory glint in his eye. The toilet stall I was in a few minutes ago seems very inviting right now. My heart has started thudding at an almost audible level, but my feet still won't move and he is getting nearer.

"You're coming with me."

No.

I want to say it out aloud but my vocal cords don't seem to be working. In fact I can't really feel anything other than the panicked beats of my heart, and butterflies in my stomach.

He takes hold of my upper left arm, the one that's propping open the door and pulls me towards him. His touch instantly connects with the longing at the base of my stomach. Pulses of excitement, anticipation and anxiety collide as he turns and starts striding towards the stairs. I am practically dragged along behind him, my heels sounding loudly on the stone floor, and somewhere in the back of my mind I wonder at the irony that my feet seem to be obeying him rather than me. I almost want to weep in frustration at myself; I really don't understand what is happening to me. Why am I acting this way?

We near the stairs leading upwards, but rather than take them, he pulls me to the other side of the strange courtyard we are in and takes me through an arch to the passageway behind it. A couple of steps in he abruptly stops and turns. He looks at me for a second as I stand teetering in my heels before he gently moves me to stand with my back against the wall of the corridor. The light here is subdued but I can still see him.

I am bewildered, my brain still asking questions about my behavior but the thoughts feel like echoes; intangible and far away. It's dimly trying to figure out what he wants. It senses a dangerous threat, but my body seems to have its own ideas. I can feel a warmth between my legs that wasn't there at the start of this evening.

_This can't be happening to me! _

He takes a step back. His eyes meet mine. I hope that he is only seeing my wide eyes clouded with confusion, not the unwanted lust lurking behind them. My rational side doesn't want to encourage him at all. He just stares levelly back at me. _What is he doing?_

Finally his eyes slip from mine and they travel to my mouth, and then, very deliberately, down to my neck before reaching my breasts. He leisurely appraises them before continuing down... waist, crotch… nothing escapes his attention… legs and finally, after what seems like an age, comes to rest on my shoes.

I am beyond self-conscious. My skin seems to flare up under his heated gaze. He might as well have touched every part of the body that he has just examined. My body is tingling; it's reacting to his scrutiny; scrutiny I'm not sure I want. What I do want is to move, to escape, but simultaneously in the pit of my stomach the nervous knots are turning to arousal and I catch myself being pleased that he is casting his eye over me with such diligence.

_Do you hold yourself is such little regard as to be turned on by this? You're getting off on your boss staring at you like a piece of meat!_

I feel disgusted with myself.

He mutters something, still looking at my Louboutin finery but I can't hear what it is. He is standing completely still just looking at my feet.

_What is he doing?_

My feet have never received so much attention, and frankly, like me, they suddenly feel uncomfortable at being so closely appraised. They move slightly, inching a little in the direction of the stairs.

His head snaps up. "Did I tell you to move," he says harshly.

_What? Who the hell does he think he is?_

I open my mouth to repeat my incredulity.

"And I wouldn't say anything if I were you." He eyes are fixed on mine, regarding me darkly. The threatening undertone of the words sends a jolt of pure alarm right through me.

_Oh god. This isn't good - I am in danger here. He's going to do something to me and I don't think anyone will hear me if I scream. _

My panic is increasing and I can feel cold chills running up and down my spine in waves as I process my options. The noise from upstairs is loud, and I think I'd only have a chance of being heard if someone happened to be passing for the restrooms. I haven't heard anyone come down since I have been down here.

_Shit. What am I going to do? I need to get away. _

"Don't try anything you'll regret, Miss Swan."

_Fuck. How does he know what I'm thinking? _

He takes a step forward, and I try to take one back. Of course the wall doesn't give way as I hope it will, so instead I find myself shrinking back against it. In an effort to avoid his proximity I turn my head to the left. My brain seems to think that if I can't see him, he will go away.

This evasion technique surprisingly doesn't work.

He is now close enough that I can feel his breath on my face. It sends an almost intoxicating sensation through me and my body is betraying my mind. It would like to bask in his scent. It is so inviting, fresh and… the only other descriptive word I can think of is masculine. Even as the thought passes through my mind, I know how perverse it is. I am playing with fire here, and I don't think it's going to end well. _I need to get away._

My body still does not listen.

He lifts his hand and I'm aware that he is putting it on the wall to the right of my head. I'm still not looking at him, studiously concentrating on the corridor to my left; my mind willing him to go away. He doesn't. His breath still drifts calmly across my cheek.

I can sense his other hand moving between us.

_What is he going to do? I don't want him to hurt me. _

I jump slightly when I feel his index finger at the hollow at the base of my throat, pressing there lightly. As soon as it touches my skin a shock runs right through me, heading southward. _This can't be possible. I'm scared, and yet so excited. This cannot lead to anything good… can it?_ His finger is still for what seems like an inordinate amount of time. I feel vulnerable. He could really hurt me if he pressed down with the slightest force.

Then gently, with no sign of urgency, he starts stroking my throat, just above to just below the hollow. Nowhere else. At each pass the feeling intensifies. It feels as if he is caressing a very different, sensitive part of my body. I try to resist, but the sensation is building. My desire gradually ignites and I am slowly losing myself, muscles starting to twist and knot at each contact of his finger on my throat. My breath quickens and my eyelids begin to feel heavy.

I can't concentrate on anything other than his finger on my neck and this feeling of my body being electrified with increasing need. I feel on the edge of a precipice, about to the fall off the edge into the dark unknown. There is something just beyond my reach waiting for me, but I can't see what it is. I can't understand it fully, even though I am right in the middle of this maelstrom of conflicting emotion. It could be negative, but could just as easily be positive. It is as if I am caught in a spell and I seem to have started drifting.

The only thing that keeps me grounded in this place, in this moment, is the sensation of his finger against my flesh. The skin here is soft, echoing the smooth skin somewhere else on my body, and the gentle brushing motion at my neck chimes there also. It makes me feel light. It's delicious and I can't help the uncharacteristic noise that comes out of my throat. I moan. And it sounds too husky and loud to be decent.

As soon as I do, all movement stops, his finger stills. I turn and look at him and as I do I start to feel his finger shaking. He looks as though he is struggling. His eyes tight and intense. I can't feel his breath anymore, he seems to have stopped breathing, and I do the same, waiting for what will happen next. Time seems to be elongating in the strangest of ways and probably only a couple of seconds pass, but I feel as though we've been standing there not breathing for half an hour. In this moment I seem to be left suspended. I'm not drifting any higher, but still I can't feel my feet on the ground either.

He is looking intently at the place he is touching. His eyes seem black in this half-light, lips slightly parted. He looks like a devil.

And then, quite suddenly he seems to shake off whatever stopped him and once again his finger starts its caress. It is just as gentle and rhythmic as before and after four passes I feel as though he never stopped. I am still staring at his lips, when I see his tongue slowly lick them. The intensity of my arousal spikes sharply at its appearance, as unwanted thoughts flash through me of what it would feel like on me. As this happens he leans forward bringing his head down almost to where he is touching me. From my floating state I gaze at his action, wondering what he is going to do. For the briefest of moments I think that he is going to kiss me and again I feel a sharp pulse deep within me. His head hovers to the side of his finger and then, as if he has all the time in the world, he inhales deeply before straightening up again.

And still his finger caresses my throat.

He makes no attempt to touch me anywhere else and my mind can't understand how my body can be reacting so strongly to a touch I would never have imagined as being erotic. Except here... now... with him... I somehow know deep within me that he is aware of exactly what he is doing to me. He wants this. He wants me at his mercy and weak.

As I think this, the hand leaning against the wall by my head moves. I jump slightly as he grasps my chin, keeping it up, in place and looking at him. This touch is so different from the finger at my throat. It is firm and commanding. His eyes move up and lock with mine in warning. I'm captured by them, frightened by their intensity and I don't dare move. His grip on my chin tightens, just shy of painful before it slides down my neck, passes the finger still stroking there, and slips down to my chest.

He watches its journey. His palm skirts over the jacket covering my right breast, and as soon as it ghosts over my nipple, the shards of desire that have been gathering in the pit of my stomach send a pulse of hope down to my core. I want him to do that again. I can feel the anticipation building in me.

I think I haven't been this aroused for a long time… until an unwanted memory crosses my mind, and I remember what happened only yesterday. The shame and anxiety that followed our meetings comes seeping back to me and is enough to make my eyes refocus.

_What? You don't remember how you felt after the last time. The shame. He is abusing his position. Do you really want to compromise yourself? Again._

The shock of these thoughts brings me out of the bubble I am in. I can't look at him anymore. It's too much. I scrunch my eyes shut. I can't take these sensations. I lower my face and as I open my eyes I see my shoes. My Christian Louboutin extravagance… which I would never have bought were it not for Rosalie and Angela. What would these ladies do now if they were my position? Well, for a start they would stand up for themselves, and ask him what the hell he was doing yesterday at our meeting.

_I _am_ more controlled than this. Come on Bella. This is about your career. Don't let him treat you like this. _

I am pleased to note that my inner voice is sounding stronger now. I seem to be slowly wakening from the spell I've been in, and I take heart at this as I gaze at the burnished gold leather of my shoes. Out of the corner of my eye I see his hand has come to rest on my ribs, thumb just touching the base of my breast. What my body wouldn't give for it to creep upwards… but no, now I will be steadfast. I came here to get some answers out of him, and that's what I am going to do. I am not going to let him dismiss me without a fight, and I certainly won't let him take advantage of me again. I am going to stand up for myself. No-one else will.

With this thought sounding in my head, I put a hand up to his chest.

His eyes snap to mine and I think, but can't be sure, that he quietly hisses at me as I push back with my hand, feeling a solid chest underneath it. But he doesn't so much as move. At all. This is odd. There is no give at all in his body. It is as if he is made from the same solid material as the wall behind me. I get no other reaction from him, except a continuing scowl of displeasure.

"Mr. Cullen." I can feel my resolve wavering. I clear my throat and try once more, "Mr. Cullen, please."

I try and push him away again. Still nothing. He is still looking at me intently and then he moves a fraction; not away from me as I want, but towards me. He is challenging my words and I can feel them dying in my month. I am losing the courage I have only just found. I will make one last attempt.

"Stop," I mostly whisper in despair, and instantly he takes his hands off me and steps back.

I almost stumble forwards into him and only just manage to catch myself. I straighten myself, smoothing my jacket down, before looking up at him. His eyes are following my hands on my jacket with such a look of intent that I quickly let them fall to my side. He frowns at the movement and then returns to gaze evenly at me. He looks completely remorseless at what has just been happening, and is waiting for me to speak.

I take a deep breath. "I don't think this is appropriate."

He doesn't move or say anything. He simply continues looking at me. I curse to myself how good-looking he is; his clean cut jaw line, sculpted mouth, and that shock of unruly auburn hair. It's distracting at best and frankly I could do without being sidetracked. I'm already beginning to feel nervous at his silence. It's oppressive, and I am losing my nerve by the second. I desperately try to recall what it was I wanted to say… ah, yes, the presentations yesterday and the dismissal of my opportunity to speak.

"We need to talk about our funding meeting."

He arches an eyebrow, but stays silent.

"I have a full presentation that I want to make to you about the work you hired me to do. I have been thorough in my research and I deserve the opportunity to fight for continued funding."

Silence.

What is wrong with him? He stands there looking at me, not reacting to a word I have said. I will _not_ give up. This might be my only chance to make my case.

I clear my throat again, which is now far too dry. "I have to insist. It is grossly unfair for me not to have the same opportunity as my colleague."

More silence.

I am at a loss. Of all the things that I expected, this was not one of them. If he won't engage me in conversation, there is little I can do to further my case. Why is he doing this? It's just cruel. Nervous knots begin churning once more, and I am starting to feel foolish as we continue to be shrouded in this awful, tense silence. Thoughts of my job and how much I need it flash through my mind, and I can feel the anger from earlier this morning stirring within me. He is being so obstructive. I'm sure if it came to it I could take my case to a tribunal; I've hardly been treated equally to Laurent. My heart sinks though. What would I really gain from this? I'd appear petty, particularly as I know how tight funding is at the moment, and then would I really want to work so closely with people who don't want me? The bubble of hope I've been carrying around with me suddenly deflates.

"Well, if you are going to be this childish, I'll say goodbye." I don't give much thought to the words or the sarcasm that comes with them. I just want to get out of here now.

I turn to walk towards the stairs, when I hear a low, dangerously smooth voice.

"Are you seriously trying to test me?"

Surprised, I turn back to look at him.

"What? " I bite back, my voice steady and incredulous.

"You heard what I said." His voice is like liquid venom.

We stare at one another, his expression getting darker by the moment. The blood pumping in my ears is deafening me, but this time it is not from trepidation, it is from pure and unadulterated anger. He is an asshole who thinks he can intimidate me. Well, if he thinks that then he is wrong. I might have been in two minds about the use of a tribunal, but not now. I am most definitely favoring this as an option. He is not going to get away with treating me like shit.

I am so caught up in this empowering realization that I almost burst out laughing. There is something liberating about making my mind up. I suddenly feel very calm. If he is going to behave like a spoiled brat and not discuss things with me in a civilized way, then I don't need to concern myself with trying to resolve anything with him here.

I am so over the whole situation that I simply smile at his scowl. He looks taken-aback by my reaction. Cocking his head to one side, he gives me a hard inquisitive stare. He doesn't look confused but rather looks curious, as if he is trying to solve a puzzle and then, after a moment or two, his look fades to be replaced by delight. It's a similar look to when he found my thigh highs. He is relishing the challenge. Well, if that's what he wants, that is exactly what he'll get. He will have to publicly explain why he didn't allow me my say.

We are still looking at one another when I hear someone coming down the stairs. I use this as my opportunity to get away, and step back into the stone gazebo.

"Ah, there you are. I was beginning to get worried that…" Charles is looking relieved that he has found me.

I interrupt him before he says something he might regret, "What perfect timing. I was just about to leave."

Charles is about to say something else when he sees someone else emerge from the darkness of the corridor behind me; his face falls. He looks from Cullen to me, checking to see if I am okay, and whether he needs to intervene on my behalf.

Looking over my shoulder I see a murderous look on the face of the man that I have just been trying to talk to, and the look is fully directed at Charles. I'm rather alarmed by it. It's nothing like the angry looks that have been directed at me. This is altogether something more primal and sinister. It's as if his self control is being severely challenged. I don't understand it. He has so far ignored me and my attempt to talk to him, what is his problem here?

I see Charles visibly start to bristle, and I know he wants to intercede on my behalf. It is kind of him, but this isn't the time or the place to be airing grievances. I don't want there to be some kind of commotion here. It would create all sorts of gossip, and wouldn't help my case if it has to come down to a tribunal.

Putting my hand on Charles' arm, I smile at him and say "Shall we go. I need to get home as I have a lot to do tomorrow."

Ever the gentleman he backs down and we make our way up the stairs. The last thing I see of Mr. Cullen is him watching us leave, hands curled into fists and mouth set in a thin, angry line.

**oOo**

**Bella's shoes can be seen at http:/www (dot) bagfashionstyle (dot) com/christian-louboutin/christian-louboutin-decollete-100-ostrich-pumps**** (dot) html**


	6. Chapter 6 Decision

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Nonetheless do you really want to be a thief and plagiarize this story?**

**Rated M. Younger readers cover your eyes now please.**

**oOo**

**Author's Note:  
****Dear ****Songster, you go beyond the call of duty in all your support, and you also make my words elegant. Thank you isn't enough.**

**Dear Previewers – Spring Hale, MasenVixen and Alice310, for your discussion on the appropriate use of commas, I borrow the words of Tina ****Turner and say "you're simply the best".**

**Dear Reader, a combination of real life and a bout of illness have made this chapter far later than I would have wanted it to be. Your reviews have reminded me to keep writing and I thank you for each and every one of them. Keep them coming. A particular thanks has to be said to all the ladies on Twitter for spreading the word and to Twific Promotions for the kind review.**

**If previous chapters are anything to go by this one is again a slow reveal...**

**oOo**

"Pleasure is very seldom found where it is sought. Our brightest blazes are commonly kindled by unexpected sparks."  
**Samuel Johnson**

MONDAY MORNING  
The underground carriage is hot and sticky despite the near freezing conditions above on the surface. I sit in my seat clutching my handbag, my briefcase and a large carrier bag, trying not to get in the way of the other early morning passengers. Even though I've managed to grab a seat my foot is tapping an irregular nervous beat. Today holds the unknown. I hate that. The not knowing. It's the opposite of what I have striven for. I want to know what is in store for me and right now the only thing I'm pretty sure of is the reaction my body will have when I'm close to _him_. I'm hoping things will have changed at our next meeting, but the evidence to date doesn't bode well. I try to distract myself by looking at the people around me in carriage. There are more of them than I anticipated. Who knew that there would be so many of them traveling at seven in the morning? It's early, far too early for me, but this is the compromise I have come up with over the last 24 hours.

Following my encounter with Mr. Asshole Cullen on Saturday evening, I spent the rest of the weekend in my pajamas avoiding probing calls from Angela and Rose. I sent them messages saying that there was still no news about the funding and that Charles had been a sweetheart and kept my mind off the whole job situation.

None of this was untrue. It was just not the whole story and thinking back now I don't think Angela has been convinced by my responses. I suspect Charles might have mentioned the strange stand-off at the end of the evening with a certain patron of the Museum. Luckily for me Angela is English to her very bones and is discreet enough not to push for more information. I am momentarily off the hook, but feel as if I am lying to my two best friends. What can I tell them? This is the question that haunted me for the remainder of the weekend. I don't even know the answer to it myself.

For the most part I spent yesterday agonizing over how I was going to get through today. One of the few comforts I had was in writing my journal and recording everything that had happened since my last entry on Thursday. Just getting it out of my mind and seeing it in black on the crisp, cream-colored pages of the Moleskin notebook seems to have put some perspective on it. It has allowed me to almost step away from the mortification that now constantly consumes me every time I think of my encounters with him_._

In some instances I can even see my own complicit actions in these events. There is no doubt that there is a part of me that has been, and unfortunately seems to be repeatedly attracted to him. I don't understand my reactions on Saturday evening. I've never had that sort of experience before with anybody. The feeling of floating, yet being connected to only him and his touch was intense. With hindsight it is also disturbing given how little I actually know of him. What I do know of him doesn't exactly paint him in the most positive light; after all he hasn't exactly been following conventional dating etiquette... His behavior hardly falls into the 'normal' category, but there is something beyond his conduct I can't quite figure out, something unsettling… dangerous about him, but what? I haven't been able to decide, but I do know that this mystery surrounding him is, in part, something that I've liked… and, well, that is something I just don't want to think about right now.

Our encounters on Friday morning and Saturday evening have left me feeling conflicted. My feelings and desires scare the hell out of me. What does he want from me? Why do I find it so difficult to resist him? I still can't explain it, nor do I really want to. I'm afraid that if I do I'll be opening the floodgates to something I can't control and won't be able to close them again afterwards. I'm not prepared to think about the answers to these questions yet.

Now that I have a log of everything that has happened, I also have a clear record that I have been unfairly treated. That, combined with my decision on Saturday night to lodge a formal complaint against the Foundation, has made me feel more in control of the situation. I'm regaining more of my former self; myself before the moment of subway madness diverted me. It's not that I'm looking forward to making the complaint, more that I feel secure that I now have a strategy. It's a reasonably strong case, and I am pleased that I need only refer to how I haven't been given the same opportunities as my colleagues. It's a relief that I won't have to refer to anything that has passed outside working hours.

With that resolution made, yesterday afternoon I logged onto the Museum system and wrote an email to HR explaining my intention to make a formal complaint, and, without going into specifics, asking for more information about the process. By doing this I've covered myself as there will be a log of my plan before the final decision is announced. Nobody will be able to accuse me of complaining simply because my funding has been stopped.

Despite having taken the initiative and feeling a little more confident of my own mind, by the evening I could do nothing to stop my nerves. After logging off and curling up with a book for a couple of hours I felt agitated and restless. A soak in the bath and a cup of hot chocolate still didn't alleviate the knots building in my stomach. It was only once I'd been lying in my bed staring at the ceiling for an hour and a half that I realized exactly what was making me feel nervous… It was as if my body was a step ahead of me and already anticipating what it experienced and enjoyed the week before… the journey into work and his touch.

It was this single detail that kept worrying me throughout rest of the night.

I couldn't settle; my mind racing and the rest of me running hot and cold by turn. I only had to think back to Friday morning and how he had made me feel and my body would start to react, reliving the moment as I lay in bed. With just the simple memory of cool fingertips on my skin and warmth would start to radiate from my center. The feeling was so intense that I lay there trying to recall a time when I had ever felt more… alive. Such thoughts kept drawing echoes from my body, and with every reverberation I feel disgusted with myself. I wondered why I was still turned on by it? What did this say about me? It was in public as well... Ugh, the Tube journey… Did I really want to run into him again there? Would he dare make contact with me again after Saturday? Should I avoid the Tube in the morning and get the bus? The thought was tempting but not convenient as it would make my journey at least twice as long. And anyway, why should I have to alter _my_ routine? I'd done nothing wrong… but then did I really want to run into him again in that situation? Round and around the thoughts and questions whirled.

When I wasn't awake pondering what I could do to avoid it, I was in a fitful sleep, surrounded by dreams of my subway encounters with a tall, handsome man with bronze hair and extraordinary eyes.

It felt as if the dream was on a loop as well. It always started with his hand held still and firm on my leg. It would then move in a long caress travelling slowly from above my knee upwards towards the apex of my legs. My body would automatically tighten in anticipation of what might happen next. I could feel the heat as it travelled up my spine; the yearning for him to touch me building. I wanted nothing more than for him to get there, but, inevitably, my sense of propriety would then take over and I would try and stop him from reaching my center by closing my legs. The pull of my consciousness would start to wake me up before I'd slip back into sleep and once again feel his hand at my knee starting a long caress up my leg, trying to lull me into abandoning myself to him...

This restless cycle continued through the night and I suddenly startled awake at 5am feeling exhausted. I felt as if I hadn't been asleep at all, and all I wanted to do was to hide under my blankets away from the world. Knowing that this was impossible, I dragged myself out of bed. It was as I was brushing my teeth that I came up with the next best plan: I only had to modify my routine – I won't be made to change it completely – and thus increase the likelihood of avoiding any embarrassing encounters …

And so, here I am, at 7:05am as the train approaches his usual station. I hold my breath as the doors open… and breathe a sigh of relief as they close again without any sign of him. I lean back in my seat and relax, closing my eyes for the rest of the journey.

Several stations later I know I need to rouse myself and get ready to disembark at the next stop. I open my eyes only to meet the golden eyes that I've spent most of the night dreaming about.

My stomach drops and dismay rises. I don't know how long he has been sitting opposite me. What I do know is that I don't want to have to deal with him, or my reaction to him, right now.

He simply looks at me, making no move to speak to me, and I am captivated despite myself. I can feel my skin warming more than it already is in the claustrophobic atmosphere of the crowded carriage. The train slows to a crawl as it pulls into the station and still looking at him I stand to leave. He makes no move to get up.

_Why isn't he getting up? This is the stop for the British Museum. What is he playing at?_

I feel exhausted by it all. Even so, my heartbeat has accelerated. I begrudgingly upgrade what I'm feeling to exhausted and nervous. I fleetingly wonder why he is on the Tube if he is not coming to the Museum. It still seems odd that he'd even travel on the Tube in the first place, but that doesn't explain why he's not getting off at the stop. Of course he might have another meeting before coming into work… but I catch my thoughts. Why should I care?

Pulling my various bags to me I make my way off the train, glancing back at him as I step off. Yes, he is still looking at me, but why? It's as though he is studying me, but I can't be sure that this is what his look means. It is as piercing as ever, but there is something else there I can't put my finger on.

oOo

The air outside is crisp and cold, and a welcome change to the oppressiveness of moments earlier. I walk slowly to the back entrance of the Museum. At this time it is the only way in for staff and Mike smiles as he unlocks the door and lets me in.

"You're early today," he says with a smile. "I'll be glad to have the company. It's just you and me."

He winks. I grimace.

Mike thinks he's a playboy.

He isn't.

He is however the head of security, and therefore the keeper of keys to all the archive stacks and storerooms. I don't want to get on his bad side. I know he makes Rosalie's life positively hell by insisting that she fill out the six required requisition forms if she wants access to any of the more rare or valuable pieces. It takes her about half a day just to do the paperwork. I seem to be able to get away with filling out only one form and he takes care of the rest. The price I pay is in all the innuendos I have to put up with. I've managed this far.

"That's good. I'll be able to get some research done before the others arrive."

I smile tightly and hope he gets the hint. He is harmless enough, just persistent and tedious.

"Need a hand with those bags?"

"No, I'm fine thanks… oh actually, I need to return this to Mr. Cullen…" I trail off holding out the large carrier, hoping he'll take the bait.

Obligingly, he does.

oOo

My office is freezing when I walk into it. I turn on the small and rather ineffectual heater that stands in the corner of the room, but I know it'll take a while to make a difference. I keep my coat on as I sit at my desk and collect myself. I need to focus on what I am going to tackle today work-wise. On the one hand it seems pointless to try too hard; after all I probably won't have a job by the end of the day. On the other, I'm in the middle of some interesting research, and frankly a distraction from my fears and thoughts at this point is more than welcome.

I begin clearing away some of the debris from my Friday afternoon meltdown – the box of Kleenex, the scattered files charting my work to date. There are various photos of cave drawings and documents relating to them poking out from folders, and some have even gotten mixed up in my hurry to get a summary of my work to Mr. Asshole Cullen. It's going to take me a while to re-file them.

I'm just thinking about this when a sharp knock at the door startles the bejesus out of me. I look up to see Mike peering around the door.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," he says when he sees my shocked expression. "I just wanted to let you know that I dropped off that parcel to Mr. Cullen's office just as he arrived himself. He asked me to give you this."

He hands me a long white envelope with "Miss Swan" written in exquisite calligraphy on the front. I scowl at the use of the word Miss.

Still frowning, my mind races to decide which question to ask Mike first. The most obvious question I have is how the hell is Cullen here already? He didn't get off the train when I did, and the walk alone from the next station to the Museum is at least another 20 minutes, not including the actual journey time between stations. I left him less than 15 minutes ago. It's just not possible... Of course I can't exactly mention this to Mike.

I opt for a far safer question.

"Mr. Cullen's office? I didn't realize he's been here long enough to have one," I say sarcastically.

"He's using Riley's office, and Riley has to squat with Lauren. Lauren is not at all happy!"

Mike is also the Museum's gossip collector. And he likes to share.

I smile. Well, at least I'm not the only one that's been made to suffer from Cullen's visit. Lauren and Riley will be driving each other crazy. It's not common knowledge but I happen to know that they had a one night stand a couple of years ago and to say that relations since then have been frosty would be an understatement. Lauren in fact seems to have made it her mission to flaunt her sexual prowess with others in Riley's presence at every conceivable opportunity. The thought of the two of them stuck in a room together is highly amusing even in my dark mood.

Mike loiters a while longer waiting (hoping?) for me to say something. The silence stretches on and soon becomes uncomfortable. He is about to leave when I remember something.

"I'll have to come and find you later Mike; I need to get into Storage Six this afternoon."

"Sure, no problem. I'll have a cup of tea waiting for you," and he waggles his eyebrows in a suggestive fashion as he leaves. I sigh. He really never seems to give up.

oOo

_**Miss Swan,**_

_**The meeting regarding the Cullen Foundation funding for this year will be at 9:30 this morning. Please be good enough to join us in Riley's office.**_

_**Edward Cullen**_

I glare at the words written in a most annoyingly elegant hand. I really don't want to go through this. I want to be able to press the Staples easy button and know the outcome so that I can then get on and deal with it. The waiting is excruciating.

_Oh really, and the fact that you have to be in a room with him isn't?_

Great. That's all I need, my mind's snarky commentary. I glance at the clock on the wall – 7:50am. It's going to be a long wait.

oOo

Rather than straightening up my desk I've been looking though the files on it and the photographs of various cave paintings. They divert me from my worries and soon I am caught up in trying to understand their meaning. There are some striking resemblances between some of the drawings, even though some of them caves are geographically far apart. The carbon dating also indicates several hundreds of years separating the paintings, so the coincidence of their similarities is curious. Some of them are sophisticated and haunting, capturing scenes of hunting and animals. Some are dot patterns that are aesthetically pleasing in their simplicity. It's now 9:20am, and I can't distract myself any longer. I have to go and face the music.

I leave the office and make my way towards to inner courtyard. Heading towards the back of the Reading Room I approach the newer, more spacious offices, Riley's is amongst them. The Museum opens at ten so there are still not many people around yet.

I glance into Lauren's office to see if she or Riley are there. It's a big, light, warm carpeted space - the polar opposite to mine and Rosalie's office. It serves as a reminder of what the rest of us have to put up with.

There is no sign of her or Riley. I wonder if I'm a little late and the meeting has already started. I can't hear anything from the room at the end of the hallway so I quietly make my way towards it. There is no way that I want to be the first here.

As I get closer I see that the door is shut, but the blind on the door's window is up so I can see through into the office beyond. I can see Cullen sitting at the desk to the side of the door, unaware of my presence.

He looks troubled, staring ahead at something and is frowning. I vaguely ask myself if he is ever in a good mood. I don't think I've ever seen him in one. Then I remember the smoldering gaze I was exposed to on Thursday and Friday… I stop the thought in its tracks before it can take hold and makes me lose my nerve.

Instead I crane my neck to get a glimpse of what he is looking at and am shocked to see that it's the box that I asked Mike to return to him. It has been removed from the carrier bag and is sitting on the desk in front of him looking remarkably similar to the way it did on my dining room table. It remained unopened all weekend when it was in my possession, and from where I am standing it appears to still be unopened. From the concentrated way that he is staring at I am now consumed with a desire to rip it open. Of course I had wanted to open it yesterday… but no, my conscience wouldn't let me. It kept reminding me that it would compromise me. I was not going to be Pandora. I would stand up for myself and not be manipulated by him. Now all I can think is how much I wish I'd opened it.

What could make him look like that?

I remain rooted to the spot. I am transfixed. A minute or so passes and I watch undetected and fascinated as he lifts his hand and gently, thoughtfully strokes the lid of the box. He then raises his hand to his nose and mouth. His frown deepens, not in anger but something else… it's as if he is… hurt? What is he doing? I feel I'm intruding on something private, but can't tear myself away.

Suddenly his blazing eyes are on me, and a second later Riley's weak voice breaks the silence from behind me.

"Ah, there you are."

I am caught, and can't seem to break out of the intense look from the other side of the glass. Luckily, Riley is clueless and bulldozes right on. "Mr. Cullen wants to see us now."

The stupidity of his statement is enough to bring me to and I roll my eyes and, looking in Riley's direction, doing nothing about the sarcasm in my voice, I reply, "I know; that's why I'm here."

Riley pushes past me and opens the door to the office, walking in and holding the door open for me. The pit of my stomach drops further. I so don't want to do this, but there is no way out.

I walk in and when I look Cullen is still staring at me. Laurent now jogs into the room, and for a man of his age and physique it isn't a pretty sight. He is sweating and wheezing in an alarming way.

I don't acknowledge his arrival. My attention is captivated by Cullen. Between us is the desk. And on it the black box. While the other two men in the room exchange pleasantries, he and I continue to eye one another warily. Gently he puts his hand on the box, never breaking eye contact with me. There is something about the gesture that I can't place. It is careful, tender even, and so unlike any way that I've seen him act before. I frown while my heart begins to thump against my ribs.

The inane conversation of Riley and Laurent starts to filter through, and neither of us can ignore it when Laurent asks Mr. Cullen if he had a good weekend.

"It was fair. I had arranged some entertaining diversions," he replies, looking at Laurent before returning his gaze to me, "but was most disappointed. And yours?"

Laurent answers and seems to think that Cullen is interested in his response, but I know that little attention is being paid to it. Instead the room either side of us seems to blur and all I can focus on are his stunning eyes. Their color is almost hypnotic, almost, but not quite enough for me to totally forget that I am likely to be out of a job in the next ten minutes. Remembering this makes me briefly shut my eyes against the hurt that comes with the thought.

I hear Laurent's smarmy ramblings, and he hasn't even finished his reply when Cullen snaps rudely, "Thank you, Laurent. Shall we move on to why we are here?"

This is it. I take a deep breath and open my eyes, diverting them to look at Riley. The man is white as a sheet and I can almost hear the anxiety buzzing through him.

"As you know this has been a very difficult choice for the Foundation, particularly in these uncertain financial times." Cullen's soft American accent is smooth and I absently wonder where exactly he is from. I can't place a region.

"We've taken a lot of time in coming to our conclusions." I almost snort in disgust at this. "And we have decided that Professor de Caen's work would be best served by having an assistant."

Tears start pricking my eyes, and I dig my nails into the palm of my hand to try and distract myself.

_I will not let them see me cry. I will not let them see me cry._

I keep repeating this to myself and manage to keep my breathing steady. It's a struggle but I manage it. I realize that my eyes shut and I force them open.

Looking across the room I see Laurent trying not to jump for joy as he grasps Cullen's hand and is shaking it vigorously. He is already thanking Cullen and telling him that he's made the right decision.

_That bastard could at least have the decency to wait until I am out of the fucking room._

I surprise myself with how my anger is making me feel less weepy and more than ever determined to get some recognition for my work. It is accompanied by a sense of calm resignation to the road that I must now take with the tribunal. Even still, in the middle of all this, it gives me a headache. I would rather not have to deal with any of this, and I wonder if I should just leave it and return to the States quietly. I had been offered a professorship at Harvard before leaving to come here, and while that won't be available now, there might be a similar position for me somewhere else. I wouldn't want to go to Harvard anyway, James is still there. I shudder at the thought, but I will have to start looking. Meantime I have enough savings to see me through a few months, and I could go and stay with my father. I'd rather not; it's awkward at the best of times with his new wife. I should also send out an email later today to my friends back home to see if I get any other leads for work...

As my thoughts start running something in my brain snaps and my inner snark overrides everything. _Are you seriously going to let this guy run you out of town? Are you crazy? You've spent a year working on this. And you've been making progress. There's no way that you are going to let this lie. This is your work!_

This thought strikes a chord, and I resolve to see my original plan through. I deserve the recognition.

As I seethe Laurent continues to be the selfish prick that he is, talking loudly and bragging about the fact that he already has a couple of potential candidates lined up for interviews. Rather than looking pleased Cullen is scowling at him, but Laurent doesn't seem to notice and just plows right along. Riley, to his credit, is looking mildly uncomfortable, and is taking a cautious sideways look in my direction. He must be absolutely terrified that I will burst into tears and 'make a scene'.

_How did Riley ever get his job? He really is a miracle of medical science. Who knew that a man could be so spineless?_

At least he has the graciousness to look saddened on my behalf. Having satisfied himself that I'm not crying, he now turns and comes over to me. He is about to open his mouth to say something when Mr. Cullen's voice once again cuts over Laurent's.

"Miss Swan." My blood boils at how he dares address me yet again. He could at least use my proper title. "I am afraid that your current arrangement with the Museum and Foundation will not be continuing."

"So I've gathered." I can't keep my tone in check, but really, there's no need to now. His cards are on the table, and I've clearly lost this round.

I don't really see the point in sticking around so I turn and make my way to the door.

"Where do you think you're going, Dr. Swan?"

_What? Does he really want to gloat? And is he really only now going to start addressing me by the title I've worked very hard to get? The fucking balls of the guy._

I turn around glaring at him. He looks back at me calmly.

"I haven't finished."

"What are you talking about? You've made yourself perfectly understood."

"If you'll allow me to finish..." There is condescension in his voice now, and my anger level is so high it has nowhere to go without me totally losing it and screaming. I have enough wherewithal to know that this would not be a good thing to do, but my temper is hanging on by a thread.

I purse my lips. Speaking right now would not lead anywhere good. I simply look at him and raise my eyebrow, waiting.

His lips twitch upwards slightly, and that little movement is about to set me off when the words coming out of his mouth surprise me.

"Your work has been exemplary, Dr. Swan, and the Foundation has realized that it cannot let your research be subjected to the precarious fluctuations of the global economy as it is at present. That been said, we would like to offer you a permanent research post within the Foundation itself. This has only been offered once before to a researcher…"

He pauses. I am aware that my mouth might be hanging open at this point. I look at Riley and Laurent and I see my look reflected in them. Realizing that he isn't going to get a response from any of us Cullen continues.

"Of course you are settled here and it seems as if it is a good home for you to work from, so I would propose that you continue using the Museum as a base. The only difference will be that you will report directly to me."

He pauses again. Yeah, he's still not going to get a response from me. My brain doesn't think my ears are working properly. I can't be hearing this correctly. Have I just entered the Twilight Zone?

He frowns slightly, but pushes on.

"We'll be increasing your budget and salary accordingly and," he turns to Riley, "we'll also be compensating the Museum for accommodating Dr. Swan. I trust there'll be no objection."

Riley dumbly shakes his head. It's clear that Cullen isn't going to get a coherent response to this surprising news so he turns back to the desk.

"Good. I'll send through a formal proposal for the Board to consider. Dr. Swan, I will come and find you later on and we can discuss details as this change will be effective immediately."

With this we are dismissed and dazed we all walk out silently.

oOo

I make my way to the Eastern wing and the exhibition space at the end. The Museum is just about to open and it is still quiet here in the air-conditioned room. I walk over to one of the benches in the center. Sitting, I face the end and look at the beautiful pediment there. Despite the controversy that continues to surround them, the Parthenon Sculptures remain exquisite, serene and timeless. They rise above the heated debates and injustices that they might well have suffered.

My mind is still reeling. I can't understand what is happening. After all of the angst I've been through this weekend about my job, this was not on my list of outcomes.

_What the hell am I going to do now?_

I snort as soon as soon as the thought flitters through my brain.

_What are you complaining about, woman? You thought you'd lost your job half an hour ago. Now you're worrying about keeping it and getting a pay raise. Really? Is this such a big problem? _

My inner brain might have a point. Of course she goes and ruins it with the next unwelcome thought...

_And you got through that without thinking about his glorious fingers, or the Tube journey into work..._

Fuck. I can feel myself scowling. It's not that I'm not elated at knowing that I will still be able to do the job I adore. It's who I've got to report to that's bothering me.

_How is it going to work? _

I've not exactly discouraged him with some of my actions and responses to him. And he certainly hasn't been shy in approaching me.

_Will he use that against me? Will he expect more? No! I refuse to let him take advantage of me._

My body responds to my thoughts again as arousal suddenly courses through me. I am thrown into turmoil as the unbidden question flits through my mind:

_How much do I want him to?_

I blush at the thought as muscles deep inside me tighten in anticipation.

**oOo**

**End notes:  
****To learn more about the controversy surrounding the Parthenon Sculptures and the British Museum****'s position on them visit:  
****www**** (dot) britishmuseum (dot) org/the_museum/news_and_press_releases/statements/the_parthenon_sculptures (dot) aspx**

**I hope to update in the next two weeks. Meantime come join the thread on the Twilighted Forum. You need to register both to Twilighted and separately again to the forum. You can do this on****:  
****www (dot) twilighted (dot) net/forum/**


	7. Chapter 7 Working Late

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Please don't be a thief and plagiarize this story. Not only is it bad manners, but it's also lazy.**

**Rated M. Younger readers should move along.**

**oOo**

**Author's Note:**

**I honestly could not do this without my beta Songster. You have her to thank for this chapter, as do I.**

**Spring Hale, MasenVixen and Alice310 are my wonderful pre-readers who read anything I send them immediately. How did I get so lucky? Thank you.**

**I know it's been a while - far longer than I had hoped - but you have been very patient and for that you have my sincere thanks. I appreciate all of your messages, tweets and reviews; they really have kept me going. Thank you also to The Deviant Ones over at Deviants of the Dark for their very kind review. The teaser I posted on the Twilighted forum is for them, but as this chapter was getting too long, it now pertains to the next chapter!**

**Now... on with the story. As you might recall we left Bella reeling having learned that her job is secure, but that she'll be reported directly to a certain Mr. Cullen...**

**oOo**

Under the hive-like dome the stooping haunted readers  
Go up and down the alleys, tap the cells of knowledge -  
Honey and wax, the accumulation of years -  
Some on commission, some for the love of learning,  
Some because they have nothing better to do  
Or because they hope these walls of books will deaden  
The drumming of the demon in their ears.

**from: The British Museum Reading Room  
by Louis MacNeice**

MONDAY continued…

The sounds of the first visitors of the day break through my thoughts. I look over my shoulder towards the glass doors. It must be ten o'clock and already a flood of tourists is heading towards the exhibition room, and my refuge amongst these magnificent marbles will be invaded. I stand and make my way to the door as the first person pulls it open and courteously allows me to leave before they start on the serious business of absorbing as much culture as they possibly can.

I walk back across the great courtyard of the Museum and as I round the edge of the Reading Room I almost walk into the back of the man I've been trying not to think about for the past half hour.

I stop myself just in time. His back is to me. I pray that he doesn't turn around and see me. I'm pretty sure he hasn't heard me as he is on his cell phone and I take a quiet step back.

"…I know that but I was so distracted I didn't even hear her... She was right outside…"

He sounds very angry.

_Boy, is this guy _ever_ in a good mood?_

I really don't want to stick around. I turn on my heel to take another route but as I do so I feel a hand on my arm.

"Dr. Swan. Were you looking for me?"

He sounds a fraction less angry than he was a second ago on the phone but the words are still tight and clipped. It's as if he doesn't want to speak to me. He isn't the only one who doesn't want to engage in conversation right now. I shake my head as he lets go of my arm.

"We'll talk later," he says before turning away and saying to the person still at the other end of the phone, "Yes that's right."

I am distracted as I walk back in the direction of my office. I really don't want to be alone with him, let alone discuss how it's going to work with me reporting to him. He freaks me out. I groan inwardly as I know there is no getting out of it and the same questions I've been asking for the last half hour start to clamor in my mind once again.

Leaving the public area of the museum I take the back corridor towards my office. I don't usually take this route. There are no windows to the outside world in this part of the Museum, and that combined with the fact that I have to walk past Laurent's two research rooms makes it somewhat unappealing. I don't want to run into him now. There is still too much to process from this morning and I'm feeling tired and drained.

The lights are on in both rooms, casting their orange glow into the dark hallway. As I pass the first of Laurent's rooms I can see that various ceramic collections have recently arrived and have been laid out ready to be catalogued. The rooms aren't spacious, nowhere is in the Museum, but these rooms allow two or three people to work in them at the same time. Much to my relief nobody is in the first room and all is silent bar the sound of my shoes on the marbled floor.

Passing the second room I glance in to see Laurent standing just inside the doorway examining what looks to be a remarkably well preserved prehistoric Italian vase. He looks up and narrows his eyes at me.

"Miss Swan..."

I stop in my tracks.

_What the hell? Cullen may have irritated the fuck out of me in the past with his lack of respect for my proper title but there is no way Laurent is going to get away with it._

"… I have to congratulate you on your er… good fortune." The sneer in the final two words implies in no uncertain terms that he doesn't believe there is anything fortunate about it.

My voice is hard as I correct him. I'm really in no mood for this. "It's Doctor Swan as well you know…" I shake my head continuing, "What are you talking about Laurent?" I snap.

"Well…" he is smiling unkindly, "… I'm hardly surprised Cullen would like a pretty young thing like you to be working directly…" the condescending grin widens revealing yellow crooked teeth, "_underneath_ him as it were."

"Are you suggesting that there's some other reason for the Foundation's decision?" I spit back looking him up and down. I can see sweaty damp patches under his blue shirt and his small but visible paunch threatening to peek out from beneath it. It makes me feel slightly nauseous and I look away down the empty corridor ahead of me.

"Well, it does seem rather odd? That such a big decision would be made so quickly." He pauses… "Don't you think?"

I look at him as he asks the question, his calculating eyes eager to find out what he can about the situation. I can feel the heat in my cheeks starting to rise. The same questions have been chasing me.

_Why have I been this fortunate?_

I stop the thought. This is not the place to start unraveling, which is what I feel I will do if I let it continue.

I fight the urge to shift my feet. I know it will make me look nervous and this will only encourage Laurent to not only try and find out exactly what has come to pass between me and Cullen, but also to torment me further by spreading rumors. Luckily my brain seems to be acting rationally at the moment and reassures me that there is no way that Laurent can find out about the subway journeys and my initial encounters with Cullen. This being the case what do I care what the idiot does? Having said this I don't want to have to deal with all the gossip. I know that even the tiniest pieces of information spread like wildfire amongst the Museum staff. I suspect it's due to the fact that we are surrounded by so many antiquities and history. We need something, anything, to help remind us of the living world around us.

Whatever the reason, it would be tedious and would make reporting to Cullen even more uncomfortable than it will already be. My stomach churns at the prospect of how this will work practically. This thought lurks uneasily at the back of my mind trying to push itself forward, but again I keep it locked away. I just can't think about it too much. I don't want to think ahead – I just want to get through this day and head back to the sanctuary of my apartment. The quickest way of doing this is to lose myself in my work. I need to get back to the safety my office.

"I'm sure they took all due consideration about our work here. You haven't done so badly out of it…" I leave the sentence hanging a moment before adding, "Of course if you don't think so I'm happy to let them know your concerns and ask them to clarify how they arrived at their decisions."

Laurent's mouth snaps shut. He clearly hadn't thought of this. I'm hoping that this diversionary tactic will waylay his line of questioning. I want to get away from him as quickly as possible. I don't trust myself to answer any further insinuating remarks from him as diplomatically as I need to in my current agitated state.

My reply seems to have done the trick. His mouth is still shut but I can hear him grinding his teeth as he thinks over what I've said.

He looks a little unsettled as he turns away saying, "Er, no. I'm sure you're quite right, Bella." The sarcasm is still present in his voice but far less sure. Agreeing with me seems to have taken its toll on him but it's clear that he doesn't want to rock the boat that has given him the extra assistant he has always wanted.

Making the most of Laurent's discomfort I take the opportunity to carry on towards the sanctuary of my office.

oOo

"You haven't heard a word I've been saying."

Rosalie's narrowed eyes are focused on me. She's right. I haven't. Since this morning I've immersed myself in my work to the exclusion of all else. It's grounded me. I feel safe and confident in my work. I know where I am, and what I'm researching.

The pictures on my desk greeted me like old friends on my return, and, surprisingly, seeing them all together in this way offered up an interesting angle I hadn't seen before. Glancing at them scattered haphazardly I'd never noticed how very similar in style three of them were. It was an odd coincidence, but then with such similar patterns filling each photograph, hardly surprising.

I snap out of my reverie and try to answer Rose, "Sorry, I…" My words die as I start the sentence. I actually don't know what to say. To be honest I think I'm still in shock from the morning's turn of events.

Rosalie's hawk-like gaze is still on me, but her features soften a little, "It's been quite a day, hasn't it? How are you doing?"

Rosalie tried to quiz me throughout our lunch hour and for much of the afternoon about what happened on Saturday night. Luckily the news about my job has overshadowed speculation about the past weekend. I think she suspects something is up, and that it somehow involves Cullen, but can't get a handle on what it might be. Now she is acting out of character and is trying a different approach. As I look at her I know what she's doing; the 'softly, softly' approach, lulling me into a false sense of security before she pulls the big questions out again. I know this and yet I can't help but allow myself to fall for it. I so want to confide in her and Angela but I can't bring myself to yet. That doesn't mean I can't answer her current question truthfully though.

"I'm fine. Still feeling overwhelmed."

"I can imagine. I'm so pleased for you." She reaches over my desk and squeezes my hand. I smile in return.

"You know I'm going to ask again about what happened on Saturday night don't you?" And just like that the Rosalie I know and love is back.

"Right," I grin as I obviously avoid her question, "I think I'm going to go and find Mike." There's no way that I've fooled her as she grins back. I continue, "I need to get into Storage Six for those Chauvet-Pont-d'Arc pictures and you know how long it can take for Mike to make sure all the paperwork is in order first."

Rosalie snorts in a very unlady-like fashion.

"As if you'll have to do much waiting," she says grumpily, "You've got him wrapped around your little finger."

"Now, now Rosie…" I say in a voice I hope sounds reprimanding enough. "I know you're just jealous. You've always had a soft spot for him, haven't you?"

I can still hear her laughing as I head down the corridor.

oOo

The security room doesn't honestly pass for a room. It's more like a glorified cupboard and is even smaller than my office, if that's at all possible. It's located towards the back of the Museum, and is an interior room so has no windows to allow natural light or fresh air in its stuffy space. This would already be bad enough, but is made worse by Mike's generous use of pungent aftershave.

The wall to the left of the room is covered with TV monitors, switched on and showing different parts of the Museum. To the right are other monitors that normally appear to be switched off. These are connected to cameras that are trained on the private areas of the Museum and are sensor activated. They'll only come on if someone walks past one of the cameras that are placed over the doors of the storage facilities and the security safes. I only take notice of them now because one of the monitors is made conspicuous by its bright, blinking picture showing Edward Cullen opening the main safe in the South West basement.

Mike looks up and winks at me when he sees me at the door. All I can do is arch my eyebrow at him disapprovingly, which he takes as an invitation to flirt with me. Lord, this man is dense.

"Belllllaaaaa", he sings. "…Bella Isabella."

He honestly seems to think that this sort of thing makes him funny and endearing. Instead it makes him sound like a 30 year old man trying out the pick-up lines of an immature sixteen year old. Pathetic.

"Come on Mike, you know how much I hate being called Isabella. You sound like my Dad."

I inwardly smile knowing that such a comment will shut him up a little, and sure enough he becomes more subdued and placatory. This will make my afternoon easier. I won't have him insisting on taking me to the storage room to try and 'accidentally' rub up against me in the cramped space there.

oOo

Storage Six is little used, dark and rather dusty. It is the smallest storage space in the Museum and you wouldn't even know it was there unless you worked there. It's sandwiched between the two Asian exhibition spaces on the second level. Standing just inside the door and under the flickering fluorescent lights I can hear the muffled, echoing voices of the late afternoon visitors on the other side of the wall.

This was always meant as a temporary storage space. It was created when they started modernizing the Inner Courtyard and was intended to house the overspill of materials from Storage Five. Of course by the time the work was finished the narrow, long room had been filled with stacked filing boxes and some artifact oddments not deemed important or relevant enough for more rigorous archiving. It's been like this for several years now and given the lack of space the Museum has, I suspect this is more permanent than temporary.

As I venture further into the room I have to turn sideways. There is barely any room for me to pass along the passageway to the series of shelves I need. I jump slightly at the crunching sound that comes from my shoes walking over what sounds like broken crockery or glass. I can't tell and in this poor light and narrow space there is no way I can investigate it further. I hope it wasn't something that used to be valuable.

I'm not exactly sure where the box I am looking for is. Seeing the state of the archiving makes me realize that I might be here longer than I was expecting. Everything in the room is catalogued but judging from the cursory glance at the boxes near the door they have just not been stowed away in an orderly fashion. I sigh. I wish I'd bought a flashlight. Not all the overhead lights are working, and some shelves are shrouded in darkness. I'm not even sure I'll manage to locate the right box today.

I'm looking for box 7891. I squeeze my way along the passageway, the confined space reminding me of the cramped Tube journey in this morning. As I move I scan the numbers of the upper most boxes I pass. 7858… 7880… 7904… Crap. I'm going to have to move some of the boxes to get to those behind.

I don't want to get dust all over me if I can help it so I take my light gray cashmere sweater off so I'm in my fitted button down shirt. If I get too dirty I'll just take the shirt off and put the sweater on. No-one will really notice, and by the time I'm done it's likely to be late so I won't bump into many people. After a bit of shuffling I find myself in the middle boxes and I locate box 7890. I can't see the box I am after anywhere nearby. Well, now that I'm here I might as well look in this box to see if there's anything related to what I'm after.

oOo

Five minutes later and I realize I'm already sidetracked.

About a third of the files are out of the box and stacked up on my left. They have absolutely nothing to do with the files I am trying to find. Instead they are photographs and research papers from a site in Corsica. Dating as far back as 15,000 years ago, they show what is clearly a ritual or burial site. The site hasn't been as well preserved as others of this period but interesting none the less, not least because this is one of only a three such sites on the French island and the decorated altar has been recovered intact.

The sounds coming from the Museum have now ceased. It must be past closing.

I close the file I've been reading and shake my head. I despair sometimes at how easily distracted I can become. I really do need to find box 7891.

I jump as I hear a soft noise behind me, my heart instantly starting to thud against my ribs. It sounds like a brief crunch of broken glass but nothing else. It seems too loud to have come from outside in the exhibition rooms… Fear laces through me. _It isn't anything. You're imagining it. _I can't be sure though. I haven't heard the door open, and I'm sure I would have as it screeched like a banshee when I opened it. This doesn't reassure me.

I hold my breath as I peer around the shelving to the shadowy corridor, looking both ways. Nothing. I must be imagining things. Yes… that's it. I'm the only one here. I turn back to box I've opened and start putting the files back into it as neatly, but as quickly as I can. I'm feeling jumpy and the cramped space I am in suddenly feels gloomy and oppressive.

_Not to mention creepy_.

Great. The last thing I need is to be scaring myself for no reason. I reprimand my inner voice, but as I am doing so something deep in my body tells me that I should be cautious. Simultaneously tiny sparks of heat start spreading from my neck downwards.

I still my movements. I don't know what it is but I know that something doesn't feel right. What is it? As if in answer to my inner question my whole body stiffens. I know exactly what it is, and my heart starts beating at a wild rate. All at once my whole skin is covered with a light film of sweat, and the hairs on the back of my neck are standing on end.

I'm not alone in this room.

**oOo  
End notes:**

**Next update? Not sure, but certainly not as long as it's taken for this one. That's a promise.**

**More information about the Cave of Chauvet-Pont-d'Arc can be found at www(dot)culture(dot)gouv(dot)fr/culture/arcnat/chauvet/en/index(dot)htm**


	8. Chapter 8 Trapped

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Please don't be a thief and plagiarize this story. Not only is it bad manners, but it's also lazy.**

**Rated M. Younger readers should move right along.  
oOo**

**Author's Note:**

**Songster is amazing. She helps me wrangle Bella when she is misbehaving.**

**My thanks to my pre-readers:  
Spring Hale for her lovely comments - they made me laugh.  
MasenVixen and Alice310, didn't have a chance to read this one, but their support through this whole process has been invaluable. I hope real life is treating you well ladies. **

**As ever your reviews, dear readers, are what keep me going. I am so amazed that you are still on this journey with me. Sincere thanks. **

**Let me know what you think of this one.  
oOo**

The life I left behind me  
Is a cold room  
And sweet  
Sweet  
Sweet surrender  
Is all that I have to give

**from: Sweet Surrender  
by Sarah McLachlan**

MONDAY continued...

I am so scared I can't bring myself to turn around. I can't even move. My thoughts scatter like marbles skating in different directions over a smooth surface, unable and unwilling to stop. I can't seem to get a grip on them. The only tangible notion that lingers is that I'll have to move if I want to get out of here. My body is too terrified to take any notice; muscles locked into place.

_Who is in here? How did they get in? What do they want? _

These questions skittishly race through my mind. They vanish in an instant but are enough for my self-preservation to kick in. I try to marshal my thoughts into some semblance of order. If I am to get out of here, I will need to move. My heart sinks at the practicalities of this rudimentary plan. The door seems an awfully long way away.

_Come on, Bella. You have to do this. _

My limbs feel like lead, and the effort to hold onto the documents in my hands is draining. All of my energy seems to have evaporated. I carefully lay the file I've been clasping down into the box. I try to even my breathing. I need to get a hold of myself. I concentrate… inhale… exhale… repeat. After thirty seconds I feel a little braver. One more deep breath…

And that's when it hits me.

His scent… strange, musky and sweet. It envelopes me and I know in that instant exactly who is in the room with me. It's intoxicating. The hairs on the back of my neck are now straining to detach themselves from my skin. He has to be directly behind me.

I lower my hands and head and breathe deeply once more trying to calm myself while attempting to ignore the tantalizing smell. I fail miserably as I feel my body starting to respond. Why do I have this reaction to him?

Still, there's no other sound in the room. Wait… Not even his breathing. Have I got this wrong? Maybe there really isn't anyone there and my imagination is playing tricks on me. My chest feels tight, a mix of dread and anticipation and something I'm not willing to admit to.

I slowly turn around and look up.

I meet his golden eyes and my breath catches. They seem to shine in the half light, almost as though they are illuminated from within. _Cat's eyes_. The thought is lost as soon as I register it.

"What are you doing here?" I blurt out without thinking, shocked and panicked by his presence. The feeling in my chest hasn't diminished. If anything it's just escalated further.

He smiles, eyes still on me.

I scowl in return.

"You really scared me," I add, gulping.

His smile falters slightly.

That's new. I don't think I've seen him this conflicted before, but the look disappears almost as soon as it appears.

"I apologize, Dr. Swan," his voice smooth and seductive.

_Seductive? Come on you cannot be thinking of him like this._

I inwardly groan. I've got to get out of here. My past experience with him in confined spaces is not good.

_Liar. It's not as if you didn't enjoy it._

Great. Inner voice not helping. I feel my cheeks starting to get warm at the memory. I don't need this. I already feel nervous and uncomfortable. _Why is he here?_

The silence starts to stretch between us as he continues holding my gaze.

My stomach twists. I want to stop looking at him but his eyes are captivating, drawing me in.

Slowly he leans towards me, a look of amusement on his face. I can't help looking at his lips and an errant thought about how perfect they are flits across my mind. I feel as if I'm about to have a panic attack... I want him to…

_He's my boss. Must remember this_.

I take a small step back and don't get very far as my legs come up against the boxes behind me. I haven't gotten very far, but even this small distance helps. I feel a touch more rational, more able to keep my thoughts in check. I don't want to get any more involved with him than I unfortunately already am.

He tuts and slowly shakes his head, his smile widening further. He takes a step forward closing the gap.

"I don't believe for one second that you don't want this."

_How does he do that?_

My body is reacting. Adrenaline and warmth start coursing through my veins. I can hear the blood suddenly loud and pumping in my ears. My lungs can't seem to get enough oxygen in them. As he moves closer my breathlessness increases and by rights I should be feeling claustrophobic. A moment ago I'd wanted to get out of this room and into the fresh air, but now for some reason my feet are planted firmly on the ground and have absolutely no intention of moving anywhere. I want this.

_No, you don't_.

But I can already feel a low pulse of desire in the lower part of my torso and as soon as I realize this my cheeks start burning in shame. My heart pounds. The conflict within me builds as does the anticipation. It's mixing with arousal and I know my resolve is weakening.

Still smiling he leans forward in exactly the same way he did on Saturday night, and I think he is going to kiss me. My breathing stops again. I want this. I'm fighting against it but I really want this. _No!_ I can't think like this, it shocks me.

But his lips stop a couple of inches from mine and instead of kissing me he inhales deeply. I am devastated; I want his lips on me.

_Why doesn't he kiss me? And why the hell does he keep sniffing me?_

And as if he is answering my questions, he sighs, "You smell delicious."

_What?_

I don't have time to vocalize my question as I jump, suddenly feeling his hand on my left hip.

"Now, let me see you."

My eyes are now so wide in disbelief at his words that I feel as if they might actually pop out of my head. I watch him as he takes a slow inventory of my body. I am trying to keep it as stiff as possible. I don't want him to know the effect he has on me. I mustn't encourage him, but despite my efforts I can feel my body starting to hum at his scrutiny. _I can't let him do this. Who the hell does he think…_

I don't get to finish this inner argument as his fingers start to move over my clothes. They travel lazily from my hip and across my stomach. I can barely think of anything else but his touch. It is igniting all my nerve endings in its wake. All I can think of is him, his hands, how much my muscles tighten as his touch sweeps over them.

"Trousers again?" he scoffs softly. "You know I prefer you in a skirt."

He is smirking again. Is he mocking me? I can't be sure.

He looks down at his fingers as they stop just below my bellybutton. I follow his eye line and see his hand on me and have to shut my eyes. It is as if I am on a precipice, looking over the edge - a mixture of desire and fear battling within me. This is too much.

"Please." My voice comes out in a half rasp.

"Please what?"

I scrunch my eyes tightly together. If I do this he might disappear. His fingers continue their journey to my other hip. Clearly scrunching my eyes doesn't work. I don't want to answer him. I'm too scared about what it is I am pleading for. I feel so out of my comfort zone. The only other time I felt like this was towards the end of my relationship with James. I stop that train of thought and focus on what's happening here, on what his hands are doing.

His fingers are now retracing their earlier path and I look up at his lips again. The smirk has softened a little to a warmer smile. His whole face seems more relaxed than I've ever seen it before. He looks as if he almost feels sorry for me. I can't understand any of this. My head is spinning, conflicted between the warnings from my brain and the clear signs of desire that are inexplicably racing through my body.

"Shhh," he whispers. "Enjoy this," he commands as his fingers continue to move from hip to hip sending pulses of excitement racing down my stomach, towards my most intimate point.

My body reacts instantly to his words, shifting slightly towards him.

His other hand comes up to my right hip and holds me firmly. His moving fingers continue to dance over the low waistband of my slacks; a wave of longing follows inexorably behind.

This is really not a good idea, I need to stop this. _Say something then_.

Too late. My body is now yearning for his touch in such a powerful way that I can feel my brain slipping into line with it. My traitorous mind is listening too much to my body. Yet it seems to have a point.

_Why not allow yourself this pleasure?_

His long fingers are now still and are again hovering just below my belly button again. Desire has washed over every part of me electrifying my skin. My thoughts are dissolving in a sea of sensations. It feels as if I want to be consumed by him, his presence and what his hands are doing. And yet I don't want to lose myself. It terrifies me. I don't want to drown.

His voice breaks through my muddled inner conflict. "Seeing as you insist on wearing trousers, I'll have to improvise."

His words take my breath away. My previous thoughts are suddenly lost in the deep and my focus is solely on him, and what he is doing.

Instead of moving downwards as I anticipate his right hand is moving upwards over my button down shirt. _What is he doing? _

I yearn for him to touch me there. My hips move forward again, pushing against his hand that is still holding my other hip.

His left hand flexes, squeezing the flesh over my hipbone just this side of painful. It reminds me of the pinch on Friday and instantly my yearning intensifies while the alarm bells ring in the back of my mind at this.

_What does it say about me? Can I trust him? _But as his other hand continues to move upwards over my stomach and his fingers brush the underside of my breasts that thought too is washed away.

The contrast in pressure between his two hands is almost unbearable. The touch just shy of my breast is too light. I need more, more of him. I don't understand how he does this to me. My previous doubts have all but drained away, and this disturbs me. In an instant of absolute certainty I know that it doesn't matter. With crystal clarity I simply know in my bones that this is what I want. His hands on me. His touch. This feeling. Craving flows through me.

Without thinking I arch my back pushing my upper torso, my breasts, toward him. My eyes meet his and his smile widens. His gaze slips down my neck and focuses on my chest.

"Beautiful."

For some reason his one word brings me back into this cramped dark room. I instantly feel self conscious again and curl my torso inwards, trying to retreat from him.

"No." The hand on my hip tightens more and the mild pain reminds me of his touch. It is strangely comforting. I still my movements. I can't explain this even to myself, especially when I'm scared of how well he seems to read my body. He seems to know it almost better than I do. This adds to how out of control I feel when I am this close to him. It's freaking me out; I don't want to lose who I know I am.

"Let me see you."

He doesn't ask permission. Instead without a moment's hesitation or fumbling he undoes the top button of my shirt. He runs his cool fingers along the newly exposed skin there.

I can feel the blood rising to the surface of my skin. It is as though it wants to be as close to him as possible. The sensation tingles and I am once more transported to that ocean of unadulterated feeling.

His fingers are at the second button. Another caress follows and I am back at sea, drifting. The third and fourth buttons follow suit and I have started floating. Before I can really register what's happening my bra is exposed. If it wasn't for the heated flush on my chest I'd feel cold. Instead I welcome the cooling air. It stops me from sinking below the surface in the multitude of emotions I am experiencing. His fingers don't stop stroking the newly exposed skin, back and forth, sending ripples of desire across it. My breathing picks up as the air in my lungs, in room itself, feels insufficient.

His touch is too distracting, the one hand holding my hip tightly and the other brushing lightly over my chest. The skin there has never felt this sensitive. I _want_ him to feel more of me. As my consciousness acknowledges this, I softly gasp.

The sound makes him look me in the eye. His eyes look black with pupils that are so big they cover the rest of his irises. The intensity there is breathtaking under the flickering overhead light.

Without taking his eyes off me his left hand slides up the side of my body. It joins the other as they both slip under the lace of my bra straps and move downwards, pushing the cups down and exposing me. As they do both his thumbs very deliberately brush over my nipples sending a shock straight through my torso, and racing down to the junction of my legs.

I can't help throwing my head back, or the throaty groan that escapes me. In answer to it his thumbs instantly move upwards and, with more pressure, trace back over my nipples again. This illicits another moan from me.

"Look at you," he whispers.

I look up and see him staring at my breasts. I've never had anyone look at me in this way before. His auburn hair is everywhere making him look wild, and his mouth opens slightly to allow his tongue to lick his lips. I watch it. Greedily. I want it on me. My hips buck forward again. I can't believe my behavior.

The movement snaps him out of his reverie and he looks up at me, the smirk firmly in place.

"You are going to have to learn stay still." His voice is smooth, but there is an edge to it that wasn't there before.

He is teasing me.

"But your eagerness makes up for it," he continues in the same tone.

Then suddenly back in his commanding, darker tone he says, "Now… turn around."

At his words my heartbeat spikes and starts beating a frantic tattoo.

His hands drop to his sides as he stares at me intently. My body instantly craves the lost contact with him. I want his hands on me again, no matter how soft the touch.

He doesn't step away from me or move in any way. I know what this is. It's a challenge. If I do as he says, I am acquiescing to him. Do I want to do this? This is my chance to get out of here, away from him.

_Why would you want to do that? Look at him._

Inner voice not helping again. I frown at these thoughts. There's no denying them. When have I felt this turned on in the past? Never, and certainly not once when I was with James. The thoughts about my past experiences depress me but when I think about what I have been experiencing seconds before...

But if I do this what…

_Stop over thinking this. Let go. Think about how you are feeling now…_

I feel…

I feel awake. Alive. More than I ever have. And I know I can't stop this now… I want to know what happens next.

I bite my lip and look up at his still darkened eyes. He is staring at me. He looks as if he has all the time in the world. There is no sign of impatience or nervousness. He seems to be calmly waiting for me to turn around. I have to make a decision now. The blood is thudding loudly as it tears through my body. I feel incredibly hot and yet feel as though I should be shivering at the same time. I am so confused. What am I going to do? If I do this I am putting myself into his hands. I am giving him control of the situation. It scares the shit out of me.

_But you'll have seen this through. You'll know, and there's nothing to say that you'll ever have to do this again. What are you waiting for?_

I'm still not entirely convinced that this is a good idea, but I try to calm myself as my feet are already moving.

As I turn my body I keep my eyes on his. His look does not waver. If anything it feels as if he is wordlessly giving me his approval.

He leans towards me again and softly says, "Eyes forward."

This is it, my final opportunity to back out of this. As soon as I do as he says and stop looking at him, I'll be silently consenting to whatever happens next. I'm trembling all over at this thought. It terrifies me, but I have to also admit that it excites me at the same time.

With lip still between my teeth I take a breath and turn. I can hear my shakes in my nervous exhale.

The boxes I've been sorting through come up to just above my waist; behind them the concrete wall.

Silence.

I try to focus on the wall in front of me, but all I can do is think about the man behind me. He hasn't made a sound.

_What is he doing?_

Now that I've made this decision and put myself in this position all I want is for him to touch me. My skin feels as if it can't contain my body. It can't stand this. I need him to do something. I need to move.

My impatience can't wait and I shift my weight onto one leg. The movement immediately earns me a tut from behind me. This small sound has the strangest effect on me. I jump at it, and then feel a flash of intense heat crashing over me. It's disorienting. He's behind me, hasn't touched me and here I am pooling with want. And a need to please him.

I remain still.

The minutes tick by, and the stillness between us seems to bloom until it fills the space. It drifts around us so thickly that I can almost see it, touch it. And accompanying it I start to feel embarrassment creeping up my torso. My breasts are still exposed and I am increasingly conscious of my vulnerable position.

_What am I doing? And why the hell isn't he doing anything?_

A flash of irritation runs through me.

"Hands on the box in front of you." His voice cuts through the silence. Immediately all the doubt of seconds earlier dissolve and I am pleased that I haven't jumped as much as before.

I do as he says and feel fingers at the underside of my right breast, brushing upwards. My body hums in satisfaction of his touch as it leaves goose-bumps on my sensitive skin.

I am unprepared for the small but firm pinch when he reaches my nipples. I gasp in surprise.

"Quiet," is the stern response I get.

His fingers brush my nipple once more and again sends sparks across my flesh. There is another pinch. This time it is more firm, and just this side of painful. My body tenses, but it is soon eased as his fingers gently brushes over it again dispelling any discomfort.

I can feel myself starting to float at the sensations echoing across my body. I am only aware of his fingers and what they are doing to me. The rest of the room, and the oppression I felt moments ago forgotten. Each time his fingers touch me a current flows down my spine to that point between my legs. An undertow is pulling me towards him. I want more.

"Open your mouth." I jump again. It's strange; I've been focusing so much on his hand that I'd almost forgotten that the rest of him was here.

As instructed I open my lips slightly only to feel the tips of the fingers of his other hand at them. They are freezing as he slips two further into my mouth.

"Suck," his voice soft but firm.

His cool skin is smooth, almost silky on my tongue and is like nothing else I've tasted. I close my month around them and suck. All of my veins seem to be filling with the essence of him. His skin is sweet, exquisite and I crave more. As I suck again he slowly pulls his fingers out while his other hand suddenly pinches my nipple, hard.

I gasp around his wet withdrawing fingertips, and manage to stifle a moan as he quickly rubs them gently over the stinging hardened nipple. The wetness against the fading pain instantly soothes them. It's a heady mixture and I drift further away from the room, from work and into this ocean of pleasure.

Both hands are now on my breasts, pulling slightly, pinching, stroking. Each touch sends a pulse through my body and it radiates throughout my whole being settling at the junction of my legs.

All I am aware of is my body. And his. I am in his hands, both literally and figuratively, and I have given my tacit agreement to what is happening.

If anything this realization strangely piques my excitement further. I have been the one to allow him to do this to me, to touch me in this way. This collides with the fact that I don't know what he'll do next. Or what exactly he wants from me. I have given him control of the situation. It scares me. It has been my security blanket for so long. I feel naked without it, and added to that I fleetingly wonder if I am being safe.

But then again everything he is doing to me is given to him. _By me_, my inner voice states proudly.

I have to let go.

I don't think I want to. Can I trust him?

As these conflicting voices rage within me his hands are still on my chest as he pinches my other nipple this time, the shock startling me. As soon as the feeling washes over my body he is soothing it over with the still wet fingers of his other hand. The assault of contrasting sensations is building, crashing against the bulwark of my security.

_You're enjoying this. Don't over-think this._

Can I do this; give up control like this?

_Give it a try…_

My inner voice is being particularly persuasive. He pinches the same nipple and the need within me rises again almost spilling over.

"So beautiful," he murmurs, his words making me blush.

He takes a step towards me and it brings him flush against me. He grasps me closer to him as he buries his face into my hair, resting his forehead on my right shoulder. His legs pressed against mine, pinning me against the boxes, and further up, against my base of my spine and through our clothes, I feel him. I _really_ feel him. Hard and wanting.

A flash of satisfaction courses through me at the idea that he is as affected by this as I am.

He holds me close against him as he pinches both of my nipples at the same time, immediately rubbing his thumbs over them, dispersing any discomfort. At the same time he bucks his hips towards me. I can feel him pushing against the small of my back. My need blooms further between my legs as every one of the things he does to me resonates there. This is what he does to me.

And as I acknowledge all of these things I simply let go. I surrender myself to this moment, to him.

_I do want this_.

Just being able to acknowledge it is a relief. It wasn't as hard to do as I imagined. In fact it feels as if a burden has been lifted from my shoulders.

It's liberating.

And this feeling itself is empowering. This is what _I_ want. This realization only intensifies everything I am experiencing, and I can't contain the moan that escapes me.

As soon as it does one of his hands leaves my breast and very slowly runs down my torso, over my clothes. My breathing stops as hope swells. I want him to touch me there. I need him to. I try to move myself up onto the tips of my toes to help him get there quicker, but with his other hand on my breast he is holding me tightly against him. As he feels me trying to move his grip tightens further. There is no way that I can move out of his hold. I am trapped. And I don't mind at all. If anything it makes me even more aware of what he is doing. I can feel his hand as it continues moving. The flesh just ahead of its path begins to anticipate his touch. It's crying out to him, tingling all the while.

His forehead is still on my shoulder, but as his hand travels downwards he brings his head up, running his nose deliberately up my neck. Again the contrasting feeling of his touch, this time at both my neck and stomach, sends my body into overdrive. I say one word, letting out the breath I've been holding. And it is a plea.

"Please."

I feel his cool lips at my ear.

"As you desire."

And as he says the words his hand has reached my pubic bone and is pressing against me right where I want it, right on the bundle of raw and distraught nerves.

And there it is… in that instant, with him pressing against me, the floodgates open and the wave is crashing around me.

I am being consumed, drowning in a sea of passion. And he is the only thing keeping me afloat, keeping me upright.

The wave continues to wash over me and I can feel my body quivering. As the tide recedes I feel limp in its wake, but safe.

I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with fresh air and feel newborn. My senses start to function again one by one. I can smell his sweet musky scent all around me. I can hear his breath in my ear, almost in time with the still-loud beating of my heart. I open my eyes that I hadn't realized I'd closed and see the flickering light against the dark concrete wall.

And in that instant the bubble I've been in cracks and I am back in Storage Six. In the arms of my boss.

I tense my body, but of course he instantly feels it.

"Relax," he says softly against my ear, and repeats, "relax."

"I…"

He cuts me off with a "Shhh."

I fall quiet, and with my limbs still feeling like jello allow my body to slowly relax into his. I can still feel him hard at my back, and I tense again, wondering if he wants me to do something in return.

_That's how it's always worked. _

My snarky voice is back.

I try to ignore her but my momentary pleasure is now disappearing in the distance and reality is clamoring to be acknowledged.

As I am trying to fend it off, I suddenly feel him tense. He whips his head around and looks at the wall to our side. Just as quickly he steps away from me, and I am left leaning heavily on the boxes in front of me.

I feel dizzy at his abrupt movement, and even more concerned when I hear him say, "Get dressed."

I turn my head to look at him. He gazes back at me and unexpectedly leans forward, brushes my hair to one side and places a kiss lightly on the shell of my ear.

"Quickly," he said in a stronger voice, as he turns away from me and starts to walk purposefully down the narrow and cluttered passageway to the door to the storage room.

I can't help but feel hurt.

He turns again. Raises an eyebrow and pointedly says again, "Quickly."

My hurt mixes with anger but for some reason I do as he says, adjusting my bra, buttoning up my shirt and tucking it into my slacks.

He looks me up and down and nods.

_The condescending bastard._

I am fuming as I watch him open the door of the room letting the light from the Museum beyond flood into the small space.

My rage instantly vanishes to surprise as I see Mike on the other side of the door.

"Whoa, Mr. Cullen." Mike staggers back, equally surprised at having the door opened before him. "I just wanted to check that you'd found Bella."

"Yes, Mike. Thank you," his no-nonsense tone giving nothing away.

"Dr. Swan is just finishing up here so I'll meet her in her office," leaving Mike and I watching as he disappears into the Museum.

Mike turns back to me as he inquires, "Is he always so friendly?"  
**oOo**

**To hear to whole of Sarah McLachlan's song visit:  
http: / vids(dot)myspace(dot)com/index(dot)cfm?fuseaction=vids(dot)individual&videoid=1724525**


	9. Chapter 9 Home

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Please don't be a thief and plagiarize this story. Not only is it bad manners, but it's also lazy.**

**Rated M. Younger readers should turn away now please.**

**oOo**

**Author's Note December, 2010:**

**Songster is my Beta-san. She even comes all the way over to London to encourage me.**

**Spring Hale, MasenVixen, Alice310 and gkkstitch are my wonderful pre-readers. I am indebted to them for all of their help.**

**Apologies for my lengthy absence. It wasn't intentional. RL throws you curve-balls sometimes. However, I am immensely fortunate to have dear readers who review, tweet or DM to encourage me. Rest assured that your kind words really do keep me going. Do let me know what you think of this chapter. Homage is paid to two more amazing FFn stories here. Their writers are pretty awesome too. See if you can spot them. **

**This chapter is for Rhian0000. She needs to get better. And quickly.**

**Now... on with the story. As you might remember Bella has just learnt that she will now answer directly to a certain Mr. Cullen. The last time they met one another was in Storage SIx when they were rudely interrupted by Mike...**

**oOo**

I tell my secret? No indeed, not I:  
Perhaps some day, who knows?  
But not today; it froze, and blows, and snows,  
And you're too curious: fie!  
You want to hear it? well:  
Only, my secret's mine, and I won't tell.

**from: Winter: My Secret  
****by Christina Rossetti**

MONDAY continued…

"Do you know what I mean?" he pauses. For a moment I think I'll be required to speak, but the silence only lasts long enough for him to take a breath before he continues right on, "…But it's okay because I've now moved all of my stationery to the drawer and I'm the only one that's got the key…"

Mike has been talking at me for the last fifteen minutes. He waited for me while I closed up and has insisted on walking me back to my office. To be honest I don't mind that he is on a roll. He manages to maintain a conversation all by himself, with little to no input from anyone else. This gives me an opportunity to think.

I am still in shock. I wonder if I have imagined what has just transpired with Mr. Cullen, but the state of my underwear is evidence enough that I haven't. I'm still buzzing in the afterglow of my orgasm.

I ponder idly at the audacity of the man. Of course his behavior would seem astounding to me if I hadn't already known what he was capable of in public. _In the subway._ My insides clench at the memory.

No, it's not his behavior that has shocked me this time. It's my reaction to it.

The feeling of freedom I felt not twenty minutes ago before still lingers. It's unlike anything else I've experienced – a soothing balm to my mind and a deep satisfaction in the very core of my bones. I have never felt this... _present_ before. This feeling is far stronger now than it was when we were together on the subway.

_What has made this time different?_

The only logical conclusion I come up with is that it has to be connected with my response to him… my surrender to what happened between us, to his actions. The thought sends another shiver coursing through me, but following immediately behind are questions. I try my best to push these to one side and to enjoy the final moments of euphoria.

It's getting harder. I can already feel a sense of shame attempting to slip through, clamoring to be heard. I'm trying to keep it at bay, to keep it from marring how relaxed and happy I am right now. It's creating a confusing combination. I wonder what I would think if Angela or Rose were in my shoes; if they told me that they'd been involved with someone in this way. I know how judgmental people are, myself included. But what's difficult now is to reconcile that with how I'm feeling right now... It's different from how I felt last week... Why?

It's taken me a while to figure it out, but while Mike has been regaling me with his adventures with the stationery thief, I've realized what it is. It's simple…

Once I let go of my control, and allowed myself to simply be, I enjoyed what was happening.

_Really_ enjoyed what happened.

It's left me feeling more satisfied than I ever have. I've never had this feeling, and certainly not with James.

While I'm almost relieved to acknowledge this fact, it raises other, still difficult questions. What does this say about me? Does my acceptance of this more compliant side make me abnormal? Is there something wrong with me that I get off on it? It doesn't feel like it. In fact it feels as if, in a strange way, I've found home. I can't explain it.

Irrespective of what I've discovered about myself, there is one thing I am certain of… there is no way I can behave like this with my boss. However much I've enjoyed it... It can't lead to any place good. I'm going to have to make sure that it doesn't happen again.

_It's not like you've had any success in that so far._

Fabulous. My snarky conscience has decided to make herself vocal again.

Well, I will just have to be careful. I'm sure I can avoid him for the most part. It'll mean not wandering around the museum on my own, and sticking as close to Rosalie as I am able to while at work. That's not so bad. He can't be staying over here for much longer. The Foundation is involved in hundreds of research projects and charitable organizations all around the world. He'll have to leave soon.

With this realization I feel slightly calmer, although it's mixed with a subtle sense of loss. I decide not to dwell on it.

We turn into the corridor leading to my office. Mike is still droning on next to me and I start to plan how I can surreptitiously organize my work so that I mirror Rose's timetable.

"…So, what do you think?"

Uh oh… Mike definitely wants a response this time and I have no idea what he has been saying. We're near my office door now, and I hope whatever it is won't keep me much longer. I really just want to get home to think about everything that's happened. Frankly, it's been one hell of a day.

Shaking my head I come clean, "Sorry, I was miles away. What were you saying?"

"I was just saying how the staff socials are really fun. You should come along."

"I know Mike, I've wanted to, but Thursdays are not good for me."

"Oh, yes, you have your yoga class then don't you."

I smile in response.

I don't tell him that I signed up for that class specifically because it _was_ on a Thursday. It's given me a ready-made excuse to never attend the sad weekly gatherings where most of the staff sit for the whole evening in the pub across the road and steadily get drunk. I went a couple of times when I first started at the Museum, and soon learned that it was where all the Museum gossip was exchanged and created. It really isn't my scene, so when Rosalie told me about the class she went to I jumped at the chance.

We're nearly at my office, and I can't wait to get my things and head home.

"…Well, in that case," he starts hesitantly, and my heart sinks as I begin to suspect that he might be about to ask me out. Again. "Can I take you…"

He doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence because at that very moment the door to my office is flung open almost hitting Mike in the face. He squeals like a girl and jumps back a foot. All I can do is stand frozen to the spot, hand on my chest trying to still my thudding heart and stare at Mr. Cullen's enraged face. He looks absolutely terrifying.

"Dr. Swan, may I speak to you? If it's convenient that is," he sneers glaring at Mike, seemingly pleased with himself for some reason.

"Of course," I say as sweetly as possible. I really don't understand Mr. Cullen and his mood swings, but I'll be damned if I'm going to appear unnerved by them. "Mike, thanks for your help. I'll see you tomorrow."

I leave Mike in the corridor and head on into my office thinking that if it was anyone else, I'd be thanking him for saving me from Mike. But one thing Mr. Cullen is not, is the touchy feely manager one can confide and joke with.

Rosalie is sitting in the far corner of our small office looking wide-eyed and incredulous. This is a very new look for her. She deftly arches an eyebrow at me and ducks her head down to study some papers in front of her. I frown at the top of her head.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind me makes me turn only to find myself practically pushed up against Mr. Cullen's chest. I try to take a step back but in our tiny office I'm already up against the edge of Rosalie's desk, and he is taking up the rest of the floor space.

_What is it with him and confined spaces? _

I can feel the heat in my cheeks.

_Thank fuck Rose is here._

I can't bring myself to look him in the eye. Memories of what has just happened in Storage Six flash through my mind, and I can feel a shot of desire skimming down my neck right to the place he touched only minutes ago.

I'm definitely blushing now. I try and pull myself together, and croak, "Mr. Cullen?"

There is a moments silence and I quickly glance at him. I'm surprised by what I see. Judging from his tone with Mike I've assumed that Mr. Cullen would be his usual abrasive self: bad tempered with his signature scowl etched onto his face. What I actually see is a man grinning as if he has just won the lottery. As soon as he sees me looking however, he relaxes his features and is once again seemingly impassive.

"We need to talk about how the practicalities of the new arrangement regarding your funding are going to work."

He pauses, and just stares at me. I'm not sure what I can say; he is leading this conversation. I'm already feeling self-conscious with Rosalie in the room and can't look at him any more, so instead concentrate on the floor in front of my feet.

He clears his throat and finally says, "I have meetings elsewhere tomorrow so I suggest that you join me for dinner and we will discuss it then."

_What?_

I look up to see his eyes trained intensely on me, and I'm instantly captured by them, now unable to look away.

Is it me or has the temperature in the room suddenly increased?

He continues almost as an afterthought as he looks at me, "I leave on Wednesday morning for mainland Europe and it's the only time I have available."

I have a feeling my mouth might be open, but my brain is still trying to catch up with what my ears think they have heard. He wants me to have dinner with him? _Well, he is crazy if he thinks I'm going anywhere near him alone._

"I… I'm already..." I start to respond when I hear Rosalie cough behind me. I've momentarily forgotten that she is here in the same room as us.

"This can't wait, Dr. Swan," his voice takes on a harder edge, "I will see you tomorrow evening at seven."

There is no further discussion as he turns and I continue to watch as the door swings shut behind him.

I hear Rosalie cough again behind me. I slowly turn around, mildly worried about what she is going to make of all of this. Surprisingly, she looks just as bemused as I feel.

"What the hell was that all about?" she asks.

"I have absolutely no idea," I reply, avoiding her gaze.

"On a scale of one to ten, how much do you think I believe you?"

I know this is a rhetorical question. I know she is trying to fight her natural instinct to pry. She is doing well and doesn't push for any more information.

She sighs and comes around from behind her desk and hugs me.

"You know you can talk to me about anything, don't you sweetheart?" she says as I bite my lip.

oOo

TUESDAY

"You're in a good mood this morning," Rosalie observes dryly as I meet her for coffee before we make our way to the Museum. "What's going on?"

She hands me a tall latte and we head down the road.

It's a stunning morning. One of those crisp, sharp January mornings when the sky is so blue that it would be hard to believe we are in the middle of winter if it wasn't so freezing. A thick frost covers every surface outside, the sunlight reflecting and refracting in all directions. With a little imagination I can believe that Rose and I are walking on diamonds on the way to work. I can't help but grin at the thought.

"Nothing. It's just a beautiful morning," I counter.

"Humm."

I have to hand it to her. She's doing remarkably well for someone who is not used to being denied answers. Of course I'm happy this morning. By walking into work with Rosalie this morning I have not only avoided taking the Tube into work, but I've also remembered that Mr. Cullen is not going to be at the Museum today. And I've already decided that I'm going to cry off sick later this afternoon thus ducking out of dinner this evening.

My plan is perfect.

My plan took me most of the night to figure out.

I'd be dead on my feet with the lack of sleep I've had, if the adrenaline and elation of Mr. Cullen's imminent departure weren't keeping me so perky.

While I'm intrigued by my own reactions to what happened yesterday, I know that where Mr. Cullen is concerned I need to tread carefully. No, scratch that, I need to avoid him altogether. I can't afford to find myself in another compromising situation with him again. He is my boss and after everything I have worked for I will not compromise my job.

I don't share this with Rosalie.

"So, what are you working on today?" she asks as we make our way through the gates.

"I've got to re-order the files I sent to Cullen last week. If I can get them done and start trying to track down that researcher from the 70's group I'll be pleased. What about you?"

Rose groans, "It's my afternoon to do the tour."

"Well, I know how much you agree with what Riley says," I mimic his voice badly as repeat his infamous mantra, "'Impact is the most important measure of success for researchers.'"

Rose gives me her death-stare and deadpans, "Great, kid. Don't get cocky."

I'm opening laughing at her now, "Oh my, Rosalie... Could you be more of a geek?"

"The fact that you even recognize what that's from says I'm not the only one."

"Only because you've made me watch it eleven times in the last eight months..."

Rose opens her mouth but snaps it shut. There's no way she can deny the fact that she's made me watch her favorite movie so many times. I grin at her as she stomps on ahead of me towards our office.

oOo

Closing the last folder, I carry them over to the shelves and slide them into place, my mind still on all the images I've been looking at. As the last one slots into place my desk phone starts ringing.

"Hello."

"Bella? Bella, it's me."

I smile as I recognize the voice echoing down the line, "Jake? Where are you calling from?"

"France, I got in yesterday."

"You're finally over on my side of the Atlantic!"

"Well, I couldn't stay away from you, could I?"

Jake is the biggest flirt I've ever known. And I've known him twenty years, since we were kids.

"So how are you doing?" he asks.

"Guh. Not too bad I guess."

"Wow, that sounds… depressing." I can hear the smile in his voice and I can't help smiling in return and sarcastically reply, "Thanks."

"Anytime. Now, what's put you in this funk?"

"I'll have to tell you another time…"

"Ah. Work related then." He is nothing if not perceptive.

"You could say that. Do you mind?"

"Nah, I get it, it's a bad time to call, right? Let's talk later. Beside you've still got to hear about what I'm working on. It might interest you."

He really knows how to tease.

"You can't leave it like that."

"Watch me, baby. Keep 'em hangin' and all that," he laughs, referring back to the advice his older brother had once given him years before about how to succeed with girls.

"Tell me, is Sam still single?"

"Yeah… I might have to make an intervention soon and tell him that his advice sucks."

"Good luck with that! So we'll talk soon? What number are you calling from?"

oOo

It's 3 o'clock and I'm buttoning up my coat as Rosalie comes back into the office.

"Where are you going?"

"I don't feel so good, so I thought I'd head home and do some reading there."

"Uh huh?" The skeptical tone of her voice tells me she isn't buying it. "So are you really feeling 'ill' or are you just trying to get out of a certain engagement you have for this evening?"

"Do you need to ask?"

"No, but I like to see you squirm. You really can't tell a lie to save your life, can you?"

I shuffle my feet.

"Don't worry," she continues, "your secret is safe with me. Off you go."

I give her a quick kiss on the cheek and mumble my thanks.

oOo

I'm nearly at my front door, and my arms feel as if they are about to drop off with the weight of all the books I'm carrying. This is my 'guilt reading' for the afternoon to make up for skipping work.

I prop my bags on the low wall by the front door to my building while I start looking through my purse for my keys. After a few minutes I've practically emptied my purse before remembering that I left them on top of my desk at work. I can feel my eyes starting to sting with tears of frustration. All I want to do is get into my apartment and hide away from the world. I lean my forehead against the cold glass of the door taking deep breaths and trying to collect myself.

I nearly break the glass as I feel a hand on my elbow.

"Are you alright?"

The softly spoken, good-looking gentleman at my side is peering at me through rimless glasses with genuine concern. Dressed in a long black coat, he is also wearing a rather unusual hat. Strangely it suits him.

I recognize him as my neighbor. He's been living in the apartment across the hall from me for the last three months but keeps himself to himself mostly. I think he's a visiting professor over in London on a sabbatical or a research trip or something. I can't remember right now, but I do know that he is a fellow North American. I've only met him two times, and one of them was on Saturday when he delivered a certain black box to me.

"Yes, thanks. Just annoyed with myself for having left my keys at work."

"Here. Let me."

He reaches into the pocket of his heavy woolen coat and pulls out his keys. They are on an unusual key ring that looks is if it is made up of three intertwined letters. I can't make out what they are.

"After you," he says as he holds the door open for me.

I turn grabbing my purse and reaching for the two bags on the wall.

"No, I insist on carrying those. They look heavy," he kindly adds, "why don't you carry mine instead. I bet it'll be lighter than these."

He hands me the plastic bag and he picks up mine before I have chance to protest.

We walk up the stairs to our respective doors on the first floor opposite one another. He puts my bags down by my door. I hand him his, glancing down into it as I do only to see the yellow of lemons in it. I raise an eyebrow as he catches me looking.

He shrugs and says, "I like a Whiskey Sour every now and then."

Laughing, I thank him for carrying my bags. "You've been very kind."

"My pleasure. But how will you get into your apartment now?"

"Don't tell anyone, but I always hide a spare key here," I reply as I reach up to the left hand edge of my door frame and pluck the Yale key that has been sitting there since I arrived.

He blinks at me in surprise for a moment before his features settle into a concerned look, "Do you think that's safe? I don't want to even think about what could happen if someone other than you found it?"

I smile as I start to unlock the door, "You're right, it is a bit of a risk, but this isn't the first time I've locked myself out, and I don't know anyone who lives near enough to leave it with."

"Well, there I am more than happy to help. If you ever want to, I'd be honored if you would entrust it to me for safekeeping. Just let me know."

"Thank you," I laugh, my door now open and pulling the first of the bags through it, "but be careful, I might just take you up on your offer."

"Any time," he says as he picks up his groceries and quickly opens his own door, "just come by when you've made up your mind."

oOo

It's about 6:30pm and I've been soaking in the bath for the last fifteen minutes. It's still early, but my eyes are beginning to feel heavy. I am still trying to feel less guilty about the call I made to work about my sudden absence, and it has diminished a little as I've managed to get through more than half of all the work I brought home with me. I spoke to Lauren earlier and told her that I felt as if I am coming down with a sore throat and asked her if she could make my apologies to Mr. Cullen. She didn't seem to be in the least bit concerned, and promised that she'd pass on the message.

I'm just beginning to doze when the silence of the apartment is suddenly broken by the buzz of the front door bell. I decide to ignore it and there are a couple more buzzes before whoever it is stops. Only they haven't given up because a minute later there starts a firm and insistent knocking at my own door. It must be a neighbor if they got in so quickly. Well, now that they're here whoever it is, is not going to go away anytime soon. I'll have to answer it.

Wrapped in my bath robe and having left puddles all the way up to the door, I look through the security peephole. I don't recognize the rather formal-looking man standing on the other side, and I wonder how he got into the building. He might be one of the building's security people, he certainly looks the part. He is solidly built and looks as if he is a cop or ex-military. I put the chain on the door before opening it a crack. It seems like the right thing to do given I don't know him, but faintly ridiculous because he looks as though he'd be able to break through the door, chain or no chain, with little effort.

"Dr. Swan?"

"Yes."

"My name is Taylor. Mr. Cullen sent me."

Mr. Cullen. Oh, no. Why did I not think that he wouldn't let this go?

"How are you feeling?"

"Yes, I'm fine," I automatically respond before suddenly remembering my cover story of feeling unwell. I mentally kick myself, "err well, apart from, you know, my sore throat…"

Guh. If I was Taylor I wouldn't be buying what I'm saying. I take a peek at his face, but he doesn't seem at all fazed and is giving nothing away. Damn him. I wish I had some of his acting skills.

"Yes, Mr. Cullen mentioned that and has asked that I come to make sure you take a couple of spoonfuls of this," he says as he brandishes a bottle of what looks like throat syrup, "before I take you to his house for dinner."

I stare at Taylor incredulously.

"He was quite insistent, I'm afraid, and said I wasn't to leave here without you."

"What?" My voice has raised a couple of octaves. _The nerve of the man. What am I, twelve? How dare he. How am I supposed to get out of this? _

I don't want to be rude to Taylor, who seems nice, but I don't want to see Mr. Cullen or be tempted by him in any way.

"He was quite clear on the matter. And he asked me to deliver this to you," he adds as he shows me a long red box, different in color but similar in style to the one I got on Saturday.

I can feel my fury uncurling, licking across my torso._ Who the hell does he think he is? __He's fucking insane if he thinks I'm just going to do what he says. He might be my boss, but this is just plain wrong. What does he want? _

"What?" I repeat, louder still, echoing the thoughts racing through my mind. "No. No, I don't want it. Go away. I'm ill and don't want to see anyone."

I try to close the door, but it doesn't move. I'm confused for a moment before I see that Taylor has his hand on it and seems to be effortlessly keeping it open.

"Please, Dr. Swan. I have my instructions."

"What does that mean?" I glare at him. "Go away."

"It's more than my job is worth, I'm afraid."

I hear the door across the hallway open and my neighbor's worried face looking out of his doorway. Taylor and I must be making quite some noise.

"Everything okay, Dr. Swan?" he says in a firm, solicitous voice. He seems totally unfazed by Taylor, despite Taylor being easily twice his size. "Do you need any help?"

"No Mr. …" I hesitate. I'm embarrassed, partly because I realize that I have no idea what his name is, and partly because of this drama and the attention it's receiving. I also realize that there is no way that I'm going to be able to decline Taylor. He is not going to go away. I am about to effectively be hijacked.

I start again. "I'm fine. This is Taylor. He's just going to give me a lift."

"Well… if you're sure," my neighbor sounds decidedly unsure.

"I am," I say sheepishly and thank him as he retreats back into his apartment. I look back at Taylor and sigh.

"I'll meet you in the car in 10 minutes?"

"Very good, Dr. Swan. Here," he says as he passes me the box through the gap in the door.

oOo

The car stops in a quiet street. The houses here are big and terraced, built up against each other. There is something slightly menacing about them, but they also look as if they have come straight out of a Charles Dickens novel. The particular house that we are parked outside is double-fronted, twice the size of the others.

I wonder where we are. I have been so wrapped up in my anger at the passive-aggressive way I have been summoned to attend dinner with Mr. Cullen that I haven't been concentrating on what part of town we are in. I could kick myself. If I don't know where I am, how am I going to get away from here?

Taylor gets out of the car and walks around to open the door for me.

I don't move.

Taylor waits patiently for me.

It's not very kind of me, but he must be used to it by now. I did, after all, keep him waiting at my place for twenty minutes more than I promised. I had been so furious that it had taken me ten full minutes to calm myself enough to start getting dressed.

Then there was the challenging decision about what I should dress in. I opted for a vintage-style sweater, three-quarter length trousers, boots and my long winter coat. Trousers hadn't done much to help matters in the Museum, but I'd be damned if I was going to go there again with Mr. Cullen.

And then there is the box. I didn't open it and I'm sure as hell not going to keep it. So I've put it in the carrier bag that is sitting on the car seat next to me, in order to lessen the temptation of opening it. What do they say? 'Out of sight, out of mind'. Well, it's not quite working but I am resisting; I'm only human after all. I am very curious about what is in there, but there is no way I am going to encourage Mr. Cullen no matter what the box holds. That way leads to… _no don't even think about it._

I take a deep breath and step out of the car. Looking down the street I see the impressive and distinctive white spire of Hawksmoor's Christ Church and I know we're in East London.

_Well at least I know where I am for whenever I can make my excuses and leave._

As I walk up to the door it opens, and there he stands. He is spectacular, and for an instant I forget the pep talk I've been giving myself since Taylor showed up – _I will not be tempted by him, I will resist, but Lord just look at him…_

His bronze hair is illuminated from behind by the lights inside, and he is dressed in dark grey slacks and a tight cotton shirt. If he finds the freezing January air uncomfortable, he doesn't let it show. His eyes slide from my face down to what I am carrying in my right hand, my purse and the carrier bag with the box in it. And just like that, he is frowning at me. Again.

I stop mid stride. I don't want to have to endure an evening of his aggressive and extremely mixed messages. It's exhausting and I have had enough of it at work. I'm about to tell him as much when another figure comes up behind him.

"Ah, Dr. Swan, you've arrived. How nice to meet you properly."

The good looking gentleman standing at Mr. Cullen's side is the same one that I met at the Courtauld Institute last weekend. He is well-built and slim with pale skin, which is made to look even more so by his ultra blond hair. As he and Cullen stand next to one another the similarities in their skin tone and amazing eye color point to the fact that they have to be siblings. It's hard to imagine Mr. Cullen sharing anything with anybody graciously, let alone a mother.

My inner ramblings cease as blondie extends his hand to me. Against my previous trepidation and out of instinctive politeness I step forward to shake it. My hand is immediately enveloped in his big, smooth and very warm hand.

"Hello," I say.

He squeezes it while he shakes it a couple of times and doesn't let go as he firmly draws me towards the threshold and leads me in. I feel instantly at ease with him; welcomed. A complete contrast to Mr. Cullen, who is now glaring at the both of us. Unperturbed by his behavior, blondie effortlessly continues.

"I trust you had a good journey?"

"Yes, thank you."

We are standing in the dark wood paneled hallway as he lets go of my hand. I glance back to Mr. Cullen and see him still frowning and shaking his head slightly as he closes the front door. Taylor must have been silently dismissed as I don't see him anywhere.

"And how are you feeling? Edward told me you were unwell."

"Umm," I can feel a blush creeping to my cheeks, "I'm feeling a lot better."

"Did you take the syrup Taylor had for you?" The blunt question comes from behind us.

Ah, Cullen has spoken.

Despite my instinct to tell him that I'm not a child to be ordered to take my medicine, I nod not trusting my voice with him. He is beyond irritating with his dark moods, lack of civility and condescension.

_Yeah, and all around pushy behavior. I don't want to be here._

The blond next to me laughs, "Well, it's good to know that the doctor is in the house."

I can't help my grin. The thought of anyone teasing Mister Moody is amusing and I wonder who blondie is.

As if in answer to my question Mr. Cullen says with a sigh, "Dr. Swan, I'd like you to meet my brother, Jasper Cullen."

"Just Jasper to you, Dr. Swan," the blond god says to me in a conspiratorial whisper and gives me a wink. I laugh aloud this time, relaxing further. It seems odd that I'm this at ease with Mr. Cullen's brother. I remember back to Saturday night and his strange, rather ambiguous words at the fundraiser.

With a hand at my elbow he gently guides me along the atmospherically lit corridor to the closed door at the end.

"After you," he says. I look back over his shoulder to see his brother still looking at me intently.

Turning back towards the door in front of me I push it open and walk into a vast room. It must span the width of the whole house and, in contrast from the ancient paneled hallway, it is ultra modern and bathed in mood lighting. White walls, white L-shaped couch, glass coffee table. It's all clean lines and minimalist. The only color in the whole room is the winter cactus on the coffee table, the green rug in the middle of the room, the open fire on the far side of the room and the disturbing picture that is hanging above it. To my right is what looks like an old Chinese screen which obscures that corner of the room.

"Come, please make yourself comfortable. Perhaps you'd like something to drink?"

Jasper looks at me expectantly. I can see Mr. Cullen following us into the room. He stands next to me but seems to be unsure about what to do and remains silent.

Luckily his brother has more manners. "We have a lovely bottle of Sancerre..."

"Thank you. Yes, please."

Jasper raises his eyes to his brother, who mutely nods as Jasper walks around the Chinese screen and is lost from view. Muffled noises seem to come from what must be another room. Maybe the screen is hiding the door to an adjoining room... but I don't dwell on this as I put my purse and the box on the coffee table and turn to Mr. Cullen to say what has been bugging me for the last half hour.

"What do you think you're doing?" I practically hiss the words out, my anger from earlier snapping firmly back into place.

My outburst catches him glaring at the coffee table. For a moment he looks shocked, but his features soon harden as he counters, "What are you talking about, Dr. Swan?"

The guy is beyond infuriating.

"What am I talking about? I'm talking about you sending Taylor over like I'm a freaking child with a bottle of throat syrup! Who do you think you are?" I'm trying to keep my voice down so that Jasper can't hear us, but there is no way my irritatingly good-looking boss can mistake how pissed off I am right now.

He blinks at me frowning and quietly says, "I don't want you sick."

It's my turn to look back at him bewildered.

His eyebrows are still furrowed as he gently brushes his hand unexpectedly against my cheek, before lowering it again, "I can't stand by and do nothing if I can help you."

His statement is such a surprise, I'm not sure what to say.

I finally find my voice. "Are you serious? I don't know what reality you're living in, but sending someone to my home and ordering me to do something is not normal behavior."

His confused daze quickly disappears as he counters, "And how do you want me to behave?"

_Yep, the asshole I've come to know is back. At least this will make it easier to get this over and done with._

"Well for a start, you can treat me with some respect." He has to know what I'm talking about.

He draws himself up to his full height and takes a step closer to me. Looking down at me he lowers his voice and says, "Do I not treat you with the utmost respect?"

I am incredulous. "How?"

With a hushed, deep murmur that seems to ooze sex, he replies, "Well, I'm pretty sure I always give you what you want."

_Wait... he didn't just go there did he?_

I take a step away from him. If he is going to start referring to the lines that have been crossed between us, I need to be able to concentrate. Him standing so close to me renders this impossible. Just to be on the safe side I take another two steps, putting the coffee table between us.

With as much composure as I can muster I say, "If you're referring to the indiscretions that have passed between us, I'm glad. There is something I want to be clear about. Nothing will happen between us again."

He takes a step or two forward, circling the coffee table. I take another couple of steps away from him.

He says ominously, "Why would you say that?"

I am wide-eyed in disbelief at his statement. "Are you threatening me Mr. Cullen?" Despite myself my voice is getting louder.

"Not at all."

I don't believe his answer but carry on. I need to make this point.

"Then surely you know that irrespective of any impression I might have given, now that we are working together our contact must be purely professional."

He takes another step closer. Again I retreat, although now I can feel the warmth of the fire at the backs of my legs.

Shit. I've effectively trapped myself between him and the fireplace. I glance backwards. Yep, if I take another step back I'll be in the fire itself. _This is not good._

"Why?"

My eyes snap up to his.

"You're now my direct boss! How the hell can that not undermine my work? I won't let that happen."

He stands in front of me looking directly at me; his gaze so fierce that it's making me uncomfortable.

"There's no reason why your work will be undermined."

My eyes widen, "You can't seriously think that?"

"But of course."

_The guy is delusional. _

I slowly shake my head at him.

He leans forward slightly and, still in his lowered voice softly says, "You're work hasn't been affected in any negative way so far, has it?"

I stare at him.

"Well? Has it?"

Of course he is right, but, "That's not the point. It could."

"I don't see why."

The man is impossible. And unhinged. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to reason with him if he going to be like this. I frown trying to think about the best approach.

He doesn't give me a chance to say anything, "In terms of changes to your contract your new one simply states that you report directly to me with monthly updates on your progress and keep me informed of any new, unexpected discoveries. It's all standard. You are perfectly free to choose any and all lines of research. I have no intention of interfering with your work."

Oh. Well, that's all great but still...

Keeping eye contact with me he slowly closes the gap between us further. Now he whispers, "I don't recall you complaining about anything else. Do you?"

The tone of his voice, his question and accompanying smirk sends an unexpected flash of heat racing across my body and a lump seems to have developed in my throat. The most I manage is a rather strained "But..."

He continues leaning forward smiling, "And I can separate work and play. Can't you?"

_Dear God._ All my stomach muscles clench and my heart starts beating faster.

"Playing with you has given me the most exhilarating moments of my existence." He is so close to me that I can feel his cool breath dancing across my face. He takes a deep breath, "and while I should stay away from you for your own good, I find that I simply can't."

What is he talking about?

_Do you care? _

The whole of my body seems to start humming at his words.

_Err, can I remind you that this is not what you want..._

My internal voice is as snarky as ever but has a point. My body is starting to mirror his and leans toward him, and I manage to catch myself. I need to leave before I start succumbing to his charms again.

_Thank God his brother is in the next room. I'll be able to make my escape more easily._

As if he's somehow heard me Jasper suddenly re-appears from behind the Chinese screen, in one hand three glasses clinking as he walks; in the other, a bottle with condensation dripping from it. I don't think I've ever been so pleased for an interruption as I am for this one. I quickly side-step from between Mr. Cullen and the fireplace and walk towards him. While the heat of the fire is diminishing, it's replaced by the heat of a pair of eyes.

"Ah, here we are," Jasper says putting down the glasses. He pours wine into all three and hands them to us.

"Cheers."

I take a sip of the cool liquid and its delicious crisp taste.

For the next few minutes Jasper asks me questions about my impressions of London. He turns out to be a sharp, quick-witted and pleasant host. The same cannot be said for his brother whose presence I can still feel behind me. But still, I'm feeling more comfortable engaging with Jasper. If he is going to be here for the evening, then I have nothing to worry about. I can get through this with nothing happening with Mr. Cullen before I can leave.

"Well, I'd better be going," Jasper suddenly says, putting down his glass.

"What?" I can't help the question as panic takes hold.

"Yes, I'm afraid I have a prior dinner arrangement that I couldn't cancel," he stands, "but I am very glad to have met you properly this time."

He takes my hand again very briefly, and I'm surprised by how cool his hands have become. "But look at what dreadful hosts we are. You're still in your coat, Dr. Swan. Here, let me take it for you."

I want to protest; to say that I must be going too, but he helps me out of my coat before I manage to form a sentence.

With my coat over his arm, Jasper adds, "It was a pleasure to meet you." He adds with a smile, "I've heard a lot about..."

"Jasper," Mr. Cullen sharply cuts over him, "that's enough."

I'm shocked by how impolite he is in front of company, but the attitude seems to amuse Jasper, whose smile widens considerably.

"You had better get going if you're going to eat." Mr. Cullen's rudeness doesn't diminish.

Meantime, my brain goes into overdrive and all I can think of is, _please don't leave me here alone, please don't go and leave me on my own…_

I watch in despair as Jasper walks away and then I slowly turn to the only other person in the room.

Mr. Cullen is back to scowling at me. What is happening? I'm suddenly nervous and want to bolt for the door. Except I can't because he has wrapped his hand around my forearm.

Looking down at me he quietly states, "Now we are alone, tell me, did Taylor fail to give you something when he picked you up?"

I've been so distracted by Jasper's unexpected departure that for a moment I'm confused. What is he talking about?

"A package maybe?" he adds sarcastically, "A red box?"

_Shit. _

He already knows the answer to this.

It's lying in front of us on the coffee table along with my purse.

I dumbly glance down at it before looking back up. I can't find my voice so simply shake my head.

"I didn't think so."

He flexes his hand on my arm slightly but his grip doesn't falter. I look from his hand to his face. His eyes have such an intensity to them that they make him appear dangerous. They also seem to shifted from golden in color to something altogether darker, or is that the ambiance lighting playing tricks?

Either way I get the distinct feeling I'm in big trouble.

"That being the case, can you please explain to me why you aren't wearing it?"

**oOo**

**Author's Note:  
**Cullen's house is on Fournier Street, London. You can read more about it at http: /en (dot) wikipedia (dot) org/wiki/Fournier_Street

The church Bella recognizes is Christ Church, Spitalfields and you can learn more about the Hawksmoor church at http: /en (dot) wikipedia (dot) org/wiki/Christ_Church_Spitalfields


	10. Chapter 10 Alone Together

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Anybody wanting to be a thief and plagiarize this story, please go and play somewhere else. It's just bad manners.**

**Rated M. Younger readers shouldn't be here.**

**oOo**

**Author's Note 20th** **August, 2011:**

**Songster is my beta and SpringHale and gkkstitch** **are my pre-readers. These women are brilliant and good friends to me.**

***Peeks out from the naughty corner...* **  
**Dear Reader, I know... it's been eight months. EIGHT! I can't believe it. RL has continued to be challenging. I know a lot of you have been frustrated at slow updates, but I have been abroad helping a friend who is in the final stages of a horrible illness. Many of you have asked if I have abandoned the story. The answer to that is that I couldn't and I wouldn't. That would be just plain unfair to you, and to Bella and Tubeward. I hope this chapter goes some way to reassure you.**

**I continue to be amazed by the generosity and encouragement of you, dear Readers. The DMs you send encourage me no end. I especially want to thank eesti, dazzelmenow, UrGallina, calbers and DutchGirl01. Meadowgirl552 has been wonderful and I think has tirelessly DMed me every month to let me know there were people out there wanted more from this little story. Sincerely, thank you all.**

**The next update will not take so long. Meantime I have written a short two chapter story called New Year's Eve Tale.**

**Enough from me. Let's get this show on the road. To recap where we have got to... After another encounter with her boss, Bella has tried to decline having dinner with him. Unfortunately, he seems to have other ideas and has brought her to his house. Now the two of them are alone...**

**oOo**

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:  
Its loveliness increases; but still will keep  
A bower quiet for us; and a sleep  
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

**from: A Thing of Beauty  
by John Keats**

TUESDAY EVENING continued…

I am reeling from his mood swings.

This is why you need to avoid him. He's your boss and shouldn't be acting like this.

For once I am listening to my inner voice.

I try to pull my arm out of his grasp. He looks down to where he is holding me but doesn't let go. It serves to make me more determined to speak my mind.

"This... This is exactly what I'm talking about. Who the hell do you think you are?"

My voice is clear and strong, leaving little doubt that I'm not going to play his games. Frankly I'm as surprised as he looks. I keep going while I can, "You can't treat me like a child, order me around all the time and be angry at me for no good reason."

"I have a reason."

"What is it?" I'm practically shouting.

"You're not wearing what I sent you."

I throw my free hand in the air. "There, right there, is what I mean. Just because you send me something that you'd like me to wear, doesn't mean that I have to."

I can see a frown forming, eyebrows pulling together. He genuinely looks as though he doesn't grasp what I'm saying.

"You do know what I'm talking about. Don't you?"

"I know you've enjoyed what we do." I hate that he has read me so easily. "Are you telling me you don't like it?"

I think about lying. I have already admitted to myself how much I've enjoyed it, but do I want him to know what an effect he has on me? The best tactic I can come up with here, on the spot, is evasion and distraction.

"It's not about that and you know it." I try to move past him, to leave, but his hand is still gripping my arm.

"Let me go."

He doesn't.

"I mean it. Let me go." The heat of my anger seems to give me strength as I yank my arm away from him the moment I feel the pressure of his grip lessen.

"I'm going home now."

"No, you're not."

"Watch me."

I try to move around him and he steps to the same side blocking my path to the door. I step to the other side and again he does the same.

He leans down towards me and, in a low voice, says, "We can continue to do this as long as you want, but you're not leaving yet. We haven't finished here." The timbre of his voice is dangerous and I feel a brief flash of fear, closely followed by the all too familiar warming sensation of arousal running across my body. I'm determined not to act on it this time; I'm too angry with him.

"What are you going to do?" The challenge is out there before I can stop myself and sounds more combative than I expect.

"I promised you dinner and you're not leaving until you've had it."

I want to scream at him. He is beyond annoying. I want to get away. I purse my lips together, contemplating ways of leaving the house.

"Stop planning your get-away. You're having dinner here," he repeats, "and that's final."

He is still leaning towards me, too close. I wonder again at his lack of perception about personal space. I try to step back but he follows me. I want to keep my head and I know I won't be able to if he touches me. I know from experience where it will lead.

"Stay away from me, please."

"You haven't minded before..."

As if I need a reminder. But my resolve stays firm. I shouldn't want this.

"Stop. Please stop it."

My voice fades because as I say the first word he steps away from me and gestures towards the couch. It might be a long way from the door, but it seems as though he'll allow me to move that far away from him. I jump at the opportunity. The more distance between us, the more rational I am able to be.

"You still haven't answered my question," he says as he settles on the couch across from me. "You enjoy what we do, don't you?" He tilts his head. There's that puzzled look again as he waits for an answer.

_As if he needs it._

Maybe he does...

At this point I'm siding with my inner voice; it's got to be plenty obvious that I've enjoyed myself so far.

He's got another thing coming if he thinks that I'm going to discuss my newly discovered predilection for yielding to strange men on subways and at work.

"You don't know anything about me. You have no idea what I want or don't want. You haven't had the decency to find out." I can hear my voice rise. Clearly I haven't calmed down as much as I thought I had.

There is a pause.

"So, what do you like?"

"You are beyond infuriating…" I am definitely yelling again now. "This isn't twenty questions and then you claim to know me. And anyway, even if you did bother trying to act like a decent human being," I watch as, for some reason, his lips curl upwards into a half smile, "whatever has been happening between us isn't going to continue. You. Are. My. Boss."

This is probably where I should shut up. And I do so.

He runs his hand through his hair and looks back at me as if he is slightly lost. This is a very unusual look for someone who has always been so calm and in charge of every situation I've ever seen him in.

A thought stirs in the back of my mind, but I can't seem to get hold of it. It slips away when he replies quietly.

"I was telling the truth when I said that I don't think our positions make a difference. You might report to me, but your research is for you to conduct as you see fit. As long as you stay within the brief and let me know your findings. Otherwise there'll be no interference on my part."

"This isn't just about that. Any involvement between the two of us will only serve to undermine my discoveries by critics. They won't see past that." The ugly face of Laurent rears into view. He would have a field day if he ever so much as suspected something between me and Cullen.

"Nobody need know."

I start to shake my head. As I do so I feel his hand back on my arm. This time his touch is gentle as he tentatively reaches across the coffee table.

"They won't know," he says more definitely, "and it might be foolish on both our parts, but I do want to know you."

His hand runs down the length of my arm. The tingle that seems to accompany his touch is back in force.

He continues, "Will you let me?"

He's asking my permission? What is going on? I blink at him unsure of whether I can really trust him. He's mood-swings are spectacular to behold, but there is something about the way he is now... I know I should avoid any involvement with Mr. Cullen. I never know where I am with him.

I have a strong suspicion that I won't succeed.

oOo

We are still sitting on the couch. He is on one side of the L shape and I am on the other. I have tried to make my excuses and leave again, but he made it clear in his brusque and direct way that I couldn't yet leave. He has reminded me that this is the only time he has available before he flies out of the country tomorrow, also citing the fact that he still has to give me a copy of my contract to look over and sign. When I'd asked for it, he simply replied, "After dinner."

What else could I do but relent? He is still my employer, and for all that being alone with him puts me on edge, I want my job.

Well, that's what I've been telling myself.

So here we are. Sitting. There has been more silence that there has conversation. My anger still has a hold of me as it refuses to subside. It seems to grin back at me when I decide to break the uncomfortable silence. I'm not going to make things easy for him.

"You must have known who I was."

If he is going to make me stay for dinner, he has some accounting to do. This seems like a good place to start.

He looks back at me. If I didn't know better, I'd think he was feeling uncomfortable.

_As it is have you ever seen him look ruffled_and am about to dismiss the thought when it suddenly occurs to me...

_That's not entirely true. You did see it once… in Riley's office._

It's true. I'd forgotten about that moment when I'd spied him with the first box I'd returned.

This is what I'd been trying to remember before. I decide to park that thought for the moment and continue my current line of questioning.

"Well? How?"

Still a pause from him before he answers. He seems nervous. Maybe I have misjudged him.

"The grant application files."

It's true. I had to submit a photo along with my application a year ago.

"Why not tell me who you were?"

Another moment of silence from him until he answers my question with one of his own.

"Would you have gone there if you had known who I was?"

We both know what he is referring to. I answer truthfully.

"No. I wouldn't have."

I look down at the pea green carpet beneath my feet. Memories flood my mind and tumble me into another bout of self doubt. Honestly, how could I so easily let myself follow a stranger's kink?

His voice brings me back to the present. It's so quiet I can hardly hear his words.

"I wanted to get to know you in that way before other things distracted both of us."

I look up and am captured by his eyes. They seem boy-ish, almost vulnerable. It's strange to see him like this. He is normally so forthright. Yes, this is definitely the look I saw in Riley's office.

In a whisper I ask the question I really want the answer to.

"Why?"

He stands up. His eyes drift down to focus on my mouth. The next time he speaks he seems to be addressing it. Is he avoiding eye contact now?

"Come. Would you like something to eat? You're apparently not well and I did promise you dinner."

He holds out his hand to me.

I know he is avoiding the question, but this is probably the most 'normal' thing I've heard him say. And the only time he's actually asked me what I want without telling me.

I put my hand in his.

He leads me behind the Chinese screen in the corner of the room and into a modern kitchen. It is similar to the main room as this too is all white. The only thing that breaks up the starkness of the counter and cabinets kitchen is a big oak table in the centre of it that is surrounded by six matching chairs. There is a vase with a large sprig of Forsythia on it. The yellow brings a welcome touch of color and Spring into the relatively bare room.

It looks as though the Cullen brothers don't do a great deal of cooking. Everything is pristine and new. On the other hand, knowing what I do of this particular Cullen brother, OCD wouldn't surprise me in the slightest.

He pulls out a chair for me and once I am seated he heads to one of the ovens. He takes out two plates and places them on the table before turning and pouring two glasses of red wine. Taking one of the glasses he raises it to his nose, inhaling deeply. He reminds me of the sommelier at Un Souvenir Léger, and that thought takes me back to a different meal, with a very different man.

It seemed like an age ago. James and I had arrived in Chicago for a conference and he had surprised me on that first evening by making reservations for this most exclusive restaurant. I had never been somewhere that had a sommelier before and was excited about the new experience.

I suppose in the back of my mind I was also wondering if this was it, if James was going to propose. It had honestly not crossed my mind before, but my girlfriends had been speculating about it. The evening had been lovely, but drawn to a close with no such declaration. I remember being vaguely disappointed, but also knew that I was being ridiculous. I was only feeling that way because of an idea other people had had. I was happy as we were, secure and in love and about to give the paper that would put our names on the international research circuit.

Of course, no-one has foresight. It was the very next day that my world came crashing down and I was forced to re-evaluate everything.

I snap out of the memories when Mr. Cullen gives an appreciative hum before setting the glass down again and sits next to me.

"Beaujolais," he says.

I look down at the plate he has placed in front of me. The food on it is elegantly arranged and as minimalist as the room around me. I've never been one for style over content when it comes to food. Despite my misgivings however, my mouth is already watering at the smells rising from the plate.

Handing me a fork he says, "Please. Eat."

At the first mouthful I can't help the hum of approval that escapes me. It's a warm salad of grilled halloumi on a bed of wilted spinach and sweet grilled cherry tomatoes. The plate has been elegantly drizzled with a thick balsamic sauce - the flavors contrasting, yet complementing each other perfectly.

Watching me closely he asks, "How do you like it?"

"Did you make it?"

He almost chokes on what he is chewing and grimaces. He coughs slightly as he wipes his mouth with a napkin before recovering.

"No. I'm no good in the kitchen." He laughs softly, "In fact I can safely say that I haven't been in a kitchen since I was a teenager."

"Well, it's delicious. Thank you."

"Try it with the wine. I hear it brings out the flavors more."

He continues to watch me as I raise the glass to my lips and sip. His eyes don't move as I lower my glass and when I lick my lips. I am not displeased at the fact that I have an effect on him. It makes me feel a little better about how I react to him. At least it's not one sided.

I try to focus back on the meal. The disadvantage of nouvelle cuisine is that although beautiful to look at, there is very little actual food on the plate. The delicious flavors I've been experiencing are over too quickly.

Before I have time to be too disappointed another plate is placed on the table. I look over to where he is sitting, looking at me expectantly.

"Where's yours?"

"Oh, I had a big meal earlier," he replies with a sly smile, almost as if there is some joke that I'm not getting. "It was also venison as it happens."

I turn back to the plate which seems to be in front of him rather than me. I'm just about to ask him why when I suddenly feel my chair moving. I yelp and grab the table to balance myself, looking around to see what's happening. That's when I see his foot hooked under the front leg of my chair slowing pulling me towards him. I am now sitting so close to him that his knee touches the side of my chair.

"What are you doing?" I don't think this is an unreasonable question.

He says nothing and I watch him cut the seared-rare meat into slices. With great care he then skewers a hunk of meat, adding some sauteed potatoes, greens and some of the blood-red plum sauce from the plate. He raises the fork laden with food, looks at me and waits.

"Dear God, please don't tell me you expect to feed me."

I can't help the sarcasm, but why does he do these things?

No reply. I can see that sly smile returning. It only goads me further.

"Are you even sure that thing is cooked?"

To be honest I have no problem with meat served rare, but there's no way he can know that.

He frowns at me.

I glare back.

I am not going to be a push-over. Why would he assume that I'd just eat whatever he puts in front of me? I know I'm being rude, but I can't stand the way he is so presumptuous all the time.

For the next few seconds we are at an impasse. His eyes bore into mine and I suddenly feel as if I am fourteen again and at my father's house being told off for climbing trees with Jake.

A beat longer and he relents. The frown is gone and replaced by a sincere look as he says, "I'd just like to do this for you. Won't you let me?"

I blink at him. I'm so surprised that he's asking my permission that I momentarily forget that he is waiting for an answer.

"Why?"

The question du jour comes out in a whisper.

He tips his head to one side and gazes at me.

"It's a small thing that I think will please you."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Are you telling me, Dr. Swan, that no-one has ever done such things for you?"

He is terrifyingly astute; no-one ever has. It fills me with a sudden sadness. I don't want to dwell on it.

"Why do _you_want to do that for me?"

He looks at me for a moment before asking, "Do you question everything?"

He says this with a faint smile on his lips.

"It's one of the reasons why I'm good at my job." I can't help the retort, but I'm smiling too as I say it.

"Of that, there is little doubt."

I'm still not about to be spoon fed.

The fork continues to float in front of me. "Don't be stubborn, Dr. Swan. Besides, I think you'll like this."

I continue studying his face. It's captivating, although he is still infuriating. The difference here is that there is an underlying playfulness that I can't help responding to.

I close my eyes and open my month.

Nothing happens.

I crack open one eye to see him completely still and staring at me; more specifically at my mouth. Again. I raise an eyebrow and he blinks back at me, caught out.

I lean forward the extra inch and take the mouthful of food. It seems to melt on my tongue. I can't help but close my eyes, but immediately open them again when I feel something brushing my lips. I instinctively move back to see what he is doing. There, resting on the pad of his thumb, is a perfect drop of red sauce against his pale skin. It looks like a drop of blood. He is staring at it with such an intensity that it would look positively creepy if it were anyone else. However, Edward Cullen, peculiar in so many ways, is too beautiful to be creepy.

He slowly lifts his thumb up to my mouth. I know what he wants me to do.

His golden eyes are the color of treacle as they meet mine. His gaze doesn't falter. My mouth starts to water. I remember all too well the taste of his skin from when we met in Storage Six.

Before I can think too much about it, I open my mouth and lick his thumb. The tangy flavors of the plum sauce mingles with the sweetness I recognize – delicious and decadent. I want to savor it, but all too quickly he pulls his hand away and clears his throat.

"More wine?"

I shake my head, disappointed that he has pulled away. I try not to let it show. "No thank you, Mr. Cullen."

He clears his throat again says softly, "Edward, please." I open my mouth to reply when he quickly adds, "At least in private."

He picks up the fork again and begins to load it with more food. I fight my instinct to break the charged air around us; I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy what we shared a moment ago.

Just as he is about to raise the fork, a phone starts ringing in another room of the house.

He looks torn.

"Shouldn't you answer that?"

He says, "Excuse me," and gives me a curt nod before leaving the table.

Proving that I can feed myself, it doesn't take me long to finish the rest of the dish on my own. He still hasn't returned so I take my plate over to the counter opposite and rinse the dishes before I put them into the dishwasher. I have no idea why I rinse them. Ordinarily I wouldn't, but it seems rude to leave anything messy in this immaculate kitchen. Even the dirty dishes.

I wonder what I should do now. I don't know what the time is – my cell is in my purse in the other room. I go past the Chinese screens back into the large living area and make my way over to where my purse is on the couch. I can hear him talking softly in the hallway beyond.

It's 8:30. I could probably make my excuses and leave.

"Stop it. I told you it's under control."

His voice is suddenly loud as he comes through the door of the living room. He stops as soon as he sees me.

"I have to go," he says and snaps the phone shut.

We stand looking at one another across the room, his hand gripping his phone and mine in my bag. I must look like a thief, a deer trapped in headlights. I tense up waiting for him to accuse me of trying to leave.

Instead he surprises me as I see his shoulders slump. He glances at my handbag and then to the box that is on the coffee table where it was left when I first came in.

The silence stretches uncomfortably around us. I feel a tug of guilt at how ungracious I have been throughout the evening. This is not how I want to be. I decide to try and be civil.

"Dinner was lovely, thank you."

He nods but makes no other move. This makes me feel bolder... My inner voice substitutes bolder for rash.

"What is it you want?"

He knows what I'm talking about and calls me out on it.

"You know. I've told you."

I shake my head. "And how exactly would it work?"

His shoulders straighten at my question and immediately says, "We will be discreet."

There is not a trace of doubt in his voice.

"You don't even know me."

"I want to know you."

My skin tingles at his words. He walks slowly without taking his eyes off me. I can feel myself flushing as he gets nearer. How is it that he can have such an effect on me?

"Would you like me to get to know you?"

My cheeks are on fire and I can just imagine what I must look like – two red hot patches of color staining my face and spreading southward. In no way can this be a good look.

I glance away wanting to catch my breath and cool down, when I feel his hand sliding up the side of my neck. A finger strokes my cheekbones.

"I like this," he says quietly, and I feel the heat escalating instead of fading.

He is standing in front of me and leans down brushing his lips high on my cheekbone. Soft, cool skin against burning heat.

"Now, I'd like you to do something for me."

"What?"

Taking his hand away, he turns to the coffee table and picks up the infamous box.

He says nothing. He doesn't need to. The expectant look on his face is more than enough to tell me what he wants.

I look at him incredulously. What is it with him and these boxes?

_He must really want to see you in whatever is in there. _

Yep, my cheeks are on fire. I can only imagine what sort of items might be held in within the red container.

His eyes haven't left my face. He is waiting for an answer to his unspoken request. He must want this. Badly. And I can't say that I'm not intrigued myself.

I reach across the table to grab the box, but before my hand gets to it, his cool fingers wrap around my wrist. My eyes meet his. They seem to be darkening with each moment that passes and light gold to hazel to brown… His tone is surprisingly sincere when he softly says, "Thank you."

From the main room he leads me down another corridor towards the back of the house. He stops at a closed door.

"You can change in here. Only wear what is in here." His voice is low but firm and I feel my desire start to bloom in earnest at his instructions.

He hands me the box.

"Come back into the main room when you're done."

I close the door behind me and am suddenly very nervous. I have no idea what I've gotten myself into. What I do know is that I'm more excited about this than I probably should be.

The red box is lying on the black marble counter of the wash basin. I slowly lift the lid.

oOo

When I return the main room is darker than when I left it. The only light in the room comes from the fireplace and three tall pillar candles that now stand on the coffee table. Classical music plays in the background and I don't recognize what it is. I can't see him anywhere.

I wander closer to the table and couch. All I can hear is the soft slapping sound of my bare feet on the whitewashed wooden floor. Well, he was insistent on not wearing anything else. I've followed his request to the letter.

No shoes.

No undergarments.

Just the floor-length red silk wrap dress.

I feel brazen and exposed and powerful. The concoction of clashing feelings makes me lightheaded. I'm more than a little turned on and very glad that I painted my toenails over the weekend.

The tiles feel a lot warmer under my feet than they should. I vaguely wonder if there is under-floor heating. Strange when there seems to be a cold draft coming from somewhere…

I shiver and move closer to the warmth of the fire. In front of me is the picture I glimpsed when I first came in and I look at it more closely.

A young woman is stretched across a bed, back arched and head thrown back. Crouched on top of her is a gnarled, goblin-looking creature who is looking around furtively. Through the heavy red drapes around her, what looks like a horse peers out at what is happening on the bed. The whole composition has an oppressive quality to it, and is frankly disturbing. It's malevolent and dark mixed with the woman's open and somewhat sexual pose. The more I look, the more I can't tear my eyes away, even though it makes me feel uneasy. This is not what most people would have hanging on their living room walls.

"It's an extraordinary picture isn't it?"

I'm so startled by the voice coming from behind me that I jump forward and only just manage to stop myself from stepping into the fireplace. I look over my shoulder at him and am shocked by how close he is to me, no more than an inch away.

"There's certainly something... different about it."

"It's called The Nightmare."

_Well that's appropriate._The snarky voice is back.

"The artist was more insightful that he realized when he painted it."

I look back at the picture. "What do you mean?"

"Don't you ever wake up and think that the things of your dreams are more real that just being a figment of your subconscious?"

"I suppose." I am frowning as he carries on.

"He captures that here don't you think? Is the incubus on top of her part of her dream, or is he a monster preying on her?"

It's true, there is definitely a surreal aspect to the picture, a blurring of lines, but this still doesn't answer my question.

I start to turn to face him in order to ask him more, but before I can say anything he tuts at me. It's a sound that is becoming all too familiar. He says quickly into my ear, "Dr. Swan, you should know better by now. Eyes forward."

Ah, yes, in this instance I know exactly what he is referring to as the tone of his voice goes through me.

I barely hear him say, "You look breathtaking."

I stand there as still as I can. This reminds me of the anticipation I felt in Storage Six, and this time it's no less diminished.

Time stretches but can't be more than a couple minutes when I hear him say, "You look delicious."

His voice is still behind me but seems to be coming from the far right of the room. How did he get there without me hearing him move? It takes every effort to stay still and not look around.

"Good. Turn to your left and sit on the end of the chair over there please."

I do as he says and find myself opposite the vintage white leather Eames Lounge Chair I hadn't noticed before. I don't get a chance to admire it as I see him moving in my peripheral vision. He is walking towards me and comes to sit down in a traditional wooden-backed chair opposite me.

He looks like a dark angel sitting there looking at me. All I want to do is fidget but can easily imagine the reaction this will elicit from him. _Humm, maybe you should give it a go… _

I lower myself onto the white leather and lean back into it.

I wonder since when have I begun to feel this bold. This whole situation is certainly out of my comfort zone. I soon forget this line of thinking when I hear his next words.

"Undo the tie."

He smirks at me. I know that look. He's testing me, thinking I won't rise to the challenge. I'm not going to give him the satisfaction. On the other hand, I'd be lying if I didn't admit to the indignant side of me that doesn't want to do what he says. I hesitate.

I hate this power he has over me…

_No, the thing you hate is how you actually like it… _

No, I hate that I tie myself up in knots over what I think about him.

Worse than all these thoughts is the fact that I suspect he somehow knows these things, and how much I want to do as he says.

He sits there quietly and after a minute simply raises an eyebrow.

I breathe in slowly through my nose hoping that this will calm me. I can feel the silk against my skin, cool and light. I fidget, and the movement causes the high slit at the front of the skirt to slide over my legs exposing my very white thigh. Looking down I move to pull it back into place.

"Leave it."

His eyes are fixed on my skin; his gaze so intense that he might as well be touching my skin for the shivers that are making their way across my body. How can he turn me on like this?

Slowly he looks from my legs, up my torso, across my neck and lips until he is looking me in the eye. They look so dark in the half-light of the room. The hungry look I remember from last week is back in full force. My breathing picks up.

"Now show me."

I know what he is asking. I'm not sure I can do this. He sits there patiently not moving, waiting, as if he knows that I will eventually comply.

I can feel every part of my body responding to the thought of exposing myself. It's not necessarily a bad feeling. But there is still something holding me back. It's partly that indignant side of me that doesn't want to be too... _easy_combined with my reservations about getting involved with my boss.

He must sense my warring emotions because he asks, "What is it?"

"I don't want to sleep with you," I blurt out before I can stop myself.

"Who said anything about sleep?"

"You know what I mean."

His smile is too mischievous for my liking as he replies, "Alright. I'll go one better if it'll reassure you. I promise not to lay a finger on you tonight."

Why do I feel so disappointed at his words? I've been the one to ask for this boundary.

He must see this in my face because his smile widens.

"Now. Show me," he repeats.

I don't know if it's the fact that he has said that he won't touch me or just my body making it's own mind up, but this time, I move my hand and clasp the edge of the tie and pull it out to my left. The material smoothly unfolds itself but hangs loosely enough to not reveal anything. I'm beginning to feel shy and vaguely think about putting a stop to things here. Although things have happened between us in the past, it's always been snatched intense moments, and always accompanied with the anticipation of getting caught. This feels much more intimate, personal. I feel as if I'm about to expose myself and not only in the literal sense. It's almost as if I'll be baring my soul to him. I can't explain it, even to myself.

"You know what I want."

I close my eyes at his words and bow my head. Excitement and embarrassment collide and I feel weighed down by shame. I'm not sure if I can do this.

"Look at me."

I take a peek at him. He is leaning forward and looking me in the eye, he says, "Please".

He is not a man of many words, but it gives me enough courage to move. My hands clasp each side of the material and I feel the silk tickling my skin as it moves over it. I look down and see my nakedness enshrined by the blood red of the dress. My pale skin seems to clash dramatically with it.

He sighs and says, "You are very beautiful, Dr. Swan."

Dr. Swan. The name reminds me of who I am, of who he is and all that I have to lose if this works out badly. It pulls me out of the bubble I've allowed myself to be wrapped in and I'm suddenly self-conscious. My arm automatically responds and moves to cover my exposed body, but as it does he quickly leans forward and says, "No, Isabella. Don't."

I find him looking at where I am covering myself with a look of such obvious disappointment that it gives me the courage to lower my arm. As I do so his face relaxes into one of sheer appreciation. I have never been looked at in this way before, by anyone. It makes me feel powerful. Desired. There isn't one part of my naked body that he doesn't take in.

When he finally looks me in the eye again it is not with smug, self-satisfied glee, but a somewhat tentative expression. He seems hesitant, as if he doesn't know if his next request will push me too far. He glances down at my legs again.

"Would you open your legs a little more."

It is said as neutrally as possible, but the fact that he asks rather than tells me gives me the sense of control I need. My feet slip to either side of the seat. The leather is cool against my thighs as my legs spread open so that I'm leaning back into the chair, feet planted on the floor either side of the seat. I feel more exposed than I ever have before.

His reaction is immediate. He takes a deep breath and seems to hold it; his eyes fixed at the point where my legs meet.

My response to him is equally strong. To feel so potent over someone else's desire is stoking my own. Despite my shyness and reservations I am turned on by the position I'm in. The music that has been playing fades and a haunting operatic piece starts. There is something bittersweet and sensual about this music. It is seductive and makes me want to be a part of it too.

He is still absorbed at what he is looking at. _He is clearly a voyeur. Maybe you should give him something more to look at?_

My snarky inner voice has suddenly decided to engage in the situation. I vaguely feel as if I should be worried about this turn of events. I close my eyes and try to still my thoughts as they begin to race. I have chosen to be here. My lust _wants_me to be here, badly. I should go with it.

Listening to the soft ebb and flow of the music I run my right hand along my collarbone and along the side of my torso.

There is an odd cracking sound from Mr. Cullen's direction. Startled, I quickly open my eyes and sit up. He is standing in front of the chair he was sitting on, looking no less intense than he was a few seconds ago.

I'm about to ask him what's wrong when he says, in a half groan, "Don't stop."

I'm thrown for a second before I realize he is openly staring at my hand.

_Ah, he wants a show._

Yep, inner voice has found it's snark again.

My hand is resting on my right thigh and I move it tentatively up to my hip bone and stop. His eyes follow every move, but I'm unsure about what to do. I'm in no way confident enough to give him 'a show', although spread out as I am, he is certainly getting something I'd never thought I'd ever do.

I look away, embarrassment seeping in again.

"I promised you I wouldn't touch you," his voice is strained, "but I'd very much like it if you did."

He isn't telling me what to do, although he is telling me exactly what he would make him happy. In a strange way I trust him to keep his word and this makes me secure in what I find myself doing.

I close my eyes again. It helps me feel less self-conscious about the roles we are playing tonight; voyeur and exhibitionist. Now there's something I'd never have described myself as in a million years. I close my mind to that thought too.

I move my hand to the side and then lower. I am lulled by the music and my fingers move in time to the pulsing beat of the opera music allowing it to fill my mind. It envelops me between the harmonious voices singing and the oboe that accompanies them.

I am shocked when it takes me almost no time at all before I am arching into my fingers. I feel my mouth open, catching a breath and holding it. I'm almost at the edge, the music reaching it's peak, but my peak seems to elude me. I wonder if it's because my legs are so far apart, I want to close them; to clench them together, but the seat is in the way. I need something... I need...

And then I hear what I need, a lustful half sigh as he says appreciatively, "Look at you."

And with that, my whole world explodes.

**oOo  
End notes:**  
**  
Bella's dress is a cross between **http:/www (dot) net-a-porter (dot) com/product/114783 **and **http:/fashionistabarbieuk (dot) com/?p=11771

**The music that is playing in the background is **http:/www (dot) youtube (dot) com/watch?v=u3H8-bnYtE0**  
**  
**The picture that is hanging above the fireplace is The Nightmare by Henry Fuseli. You can read more about it at **http:/en (dot) wikipedia (dot) org/wiki/The_Nightmare  
**  
The lounge chair that Mr. Cullen directs Bella to sit in is **http:/en (dot) wikipedia (dot) org/wiki/Eames_Lounge_Chair**  
**  
**oOo**  
**The two homages in the previous chapter, as many of you spotted, were:**

**The University of Edward Masen by Sebastien Robichaud – from whom I borrowed Bella's kindly neighbor, and **

**Master of the Universe by Snowqueens Icedragon – from whom I borrowed Taylor and Bella's glass of Sancerre. **

**Both stories are no longer on ffn, however, fear not, as both have now been published as Gabriel's Inferno by Sylvain Reynard and Fifty Shades of Grey by E. L. James, respectively. If you haven't read them I can't recommend them highly enough.**

**Well done to idgaHoot and, one of my favorite authors, Anais Mark for spotting them first.**

**There is another homage in this chapter for you. See if you can spot it.**

**oOo**  
**You can find me at times on Twitter as ElleNathan**


	11. Chapter 11 Work

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Anybody who wants to be a thief and plagiarize this story, please go and play elsewhere. It's just bad manners.****  
**

**Rated M. Younger readers shouldn't be here.****  
**

**oOo**

**Author's Note 17th September, 2011:**

**Songster is my beta and gkkstitch and arfalcon are my pre-readers. They make my words prettier and ask all the right questions that make the story better. Thank you so very much. ****  
**

**SpringHale - come back soon. I miss you!****  
**

**Dear Reader, ****  
****Thank you so much for all of your amazing reviews and kind DMs. I read every single one and they really do mean a lot to me. I'm sorry that I haven't been able to reply to more of you this time around. I'll always try to answer any questions you might have, but hopefully the speedier posting of this chapter will make up a little for that. Let me know what you think. Now, what does Bella do while Edward is away...****  
**

**oOo**

It is a sweet thing, friendship, a dear balm,  
A happy and auspicious bird of calm

**from: Passages of the Poem or Connected Therewith  
by Percy Bysshe Shelley**

WEDNESDAY

I sit at my desk and stare at my computer screen. I can't believe what I see.

_The fucking bastard._

How is it that it's only 11:15am and I'm already so angry that I want to go and find the fucker and hit him?

Rosalie walks into our office after taking her tour for the day. She looks almost as grumpy as me, and when she slams the door it confirms it. It goes some way to comfort me.

Her demeanor changes when she looks over at me.

"What's up?" she says, "You look as if you want to hit someone."

Yep, Rosalie is on point as ever.

"I do," I reply as I continue to glare at the screen.

"Let me guess... Laurent?"

I have to admire Rosalie. She really does nail things.

"Got it in one."

"What's the idiot done this time?"

I can't reply. All I can do is press my lips together and try to contain the onslaught of expletives that threaten to spill from them.

She makes her way around to my side of the desk, switches off the monitor and taps my shoulder.

"Come on. You're coming with me for a coffee break. We can then figure out your next move." 

oOo 

"...and now he's asking to see some of my research... 'pool our resources' he says... as if he has any interest in what I do. I bet he just wants to make sure that the Foundation is not giving me more funding than he is getting. He makes me so angry..."

I run out of steam. I look across at Rosalie who is sipping her coffee and nodding in agreement with me. I don't deserve such a good friend.

"I've been ranting, haven't I?" I say a little meekly.

"Maybe just a little." She squeezes my hand. "You've only just hit the ten minute mark. You can carry on if you like." She smiles as she says this.

"I'm so sorry." I haven't paused for breath since we sat down.

She waves her hand in the air dismissively. "No worries. He's annoying and conniving. We need to work out what he's up to and how to contain it."

She is quite the strategist when she gets going.

"Do you think he just wants to get close to you because of A. C.?"

"A. C.?" What is she talking about?

"Arsehole Cullen of course."

"Ugh, yes." I've forgotten all about the nickname. It seems like we came up with it a long time ago. In reality it's been less than a week. And he wants me to call him Edward...

"...then you'll know what he wants for sure."

I stare at Rosalie. How does she even know about Edward, let alone want to figure out what he wants? Even I don't know that...

"What?" I say dumbly.

It's her turn to look at me strangely. "What?" She says back to me, confused. "I said, I think you should meet with Laurent and then you'll know what he wants for sure."

_You and your one track mind..._I will my inner voice to be quiet. I don't need this kind of distraction right now.

I try to suppress my confusion and cover my zoning out by saying, "I suppose I should, but I really don't want to put up with his shit."

"Be careful. You think you know what he wants, but it might well be something else altogether." 

oOo 

It's after lunch. I am standing outside Laurent's workrooms. The corridor is dark. It's always dark along this internal corridor. There are no windows to the outside world in this section of the Museum. I can't hear anyone in the workrooms. It's quiet except for the occasional echo that comes from visitors in the main body of the Museum.

The door is slightly ajar and I use the tip of my toe to nudge it open a little further. I secretly hope he isn't there so that I can go on my way. At least I'll be able to tell him in all honesty that I did try to find him.

I poke my head around the door into the room. It's empty, but the door at the end of it is open. This leads to a smaller workspace that Laurent likes to call 'his office'. Officially it's not. Being the pompous man that he is, he has adapted it to be his own personal fiefdom and uses this room as his office because it is bigger than the ones we're supposed to use. It's pathetic.

The light is on in this 'office' of his. I can just about see that Laurent is talking on his cell phone.

"Yes, that's right... So do you think this will work? … Yes..." He starts chuckling at whatever the other person has said. "I thought you might like it... Good..." It's amazing how smarmy he can be even on the phone. "I'll see what I can get you... Right... Goodbye."

He puts the phone down and claps his hands together. He is obviously pleased with the outcome of the conversation. Maybe this will put him in a better mood when I speak to him.

I knock on the outside door and walk into the main workspace. He looks up and seems surprised to see me.

"Ah, Bella my dear. How nice to see you." His smile has a reptilian quality to it.

Urgh, he makes my skin crawl.

"Laurent. You mentioned pooling resources?" I don't even try to make small-talk. I want to get out of here as quickly as possible.

"Ah, yes. I was wondering if I might look over your research." He smiles showing yellowing teeth and continues to talk about my work, "...it seemed to me that if I come across anything similar to the drawings and dot patterns that interest you so much in the ceramics I am cataloging, there could be some potential cross-over."

Okay, so I wasn't expecting this. I had no idea that he knew the details of my work, let alone that he might try and extend an olive-branch of sorts. To say I'm taken aback would be an understatement.

That said, I still don't trust the bastard.

"How kind of you, Laurent," I say with as much warmth as I can muster. "That's unlikely though, don't you think?" I try to smile back, but it's not genuine. I doubt he notices it as he plows on.

"Oh, I don't know, my dear, you can never tell where a breakthrough might come. And if we found something that extraordinary, imagine what the _Foundation _would think."

Ah. I knew that it would come back to the Foundation in the end, and the way he stresses it leaves little to the imagination as to whom he might be referring. Laurent is so transparent, it's a joke. Does he really think I'm that naive?

There's no way I'm going to give him all of my research to look over. But I can't totally refuse him. I can just imagine how he'd use that against me in the future with Riley. Or even my new immediate boss.

I opt for vague positivity. It'll keep him at bay enough for me to think of my next move. Rosalie will be pleased with my focused thinking.

"Good idea, Laurent." Yes, ingratiating him will buy me time. "Let me dig out some materials for you to look over. Meantime, why don't I send you an outline and that will give you the broad brushstrokes of my work."

He looks rather surprised that I'm offering him anything at all. He recovers quickly.

"Oh, I think I'm up-to-date on your overall thesis. Maybe you can give me a more in depth view of where you currently are on it."

There it is. He wants to know exactly where I'm at on my research. Why? What could he possibly want with it? I need to stall in the nicest possible way so that this doesn't explode into something bigger, that I'm not prepared for.

"Sure. It'll take me a bit of time as it's all in note-form at the moment. I need to write it up. Let me give you that overview for now and we'll take it from there."

He struggles for a reply for a second – I think he'd still like to push me for more information, but I've effectively blocked him for now.

"Good. Thank you, Bella."

I leave thinking that I almost preferred his condescending 'Miss Swan's'. This faux first-name niceness is far too unsettling. I know I can't let my guard down with him. 

oOo 

To: DrISwan(at)TheBritMuseum(dot)org  
From: EACullen(at)CullenFoundation(dot)com  
Date: Wednesday, 15th January 2011, 06:04  
Subject: Contract

Dear Dr. Swan,

I wanted you to have my contact details. If you have any questions regarding your new contract, then please don't hesitate to email me. I'd be happy to answer any questions you have.

I look forward to seeing you again in the not too distant future.

Yours faithfully,

E. A. Cullen  
The Cullen Foundation 

I can honestly say that I have no idea what to make of this email. A large part of me (and that includes my snarky voice) is upset at the formal and impersonal tone of it. Okay, so I realize that he can't be more expansive in a work email, but I expect a little bit of warmth. This feels like the cold shoulder, especially following what happened last night. It wasn't as if it had been a normal working dinner. Far from it.

I felt so shy after my brazen performance I didn't know what to do or where to look. I opted for the easy way out of making any kind of decision and kept my eyes closed. When I opened them, he was at my side on his knees and looked at me with a sense of wonder. He didn't say anything; he simply took hold of my hand and kissed the back of it. When I met his eyes, my heart still beating too quickly, he squeezed my hand gently and said a soft, "thank you". It made me feel like a million dollars, as if I had bestowed upon him the greatest gift imaginable. As I woman, I had never felt so powerful.

He had then been attentive, so unlike the other times we had been together. He asked me if I needed something to drink, if I was alright, did I want to change, have a shower, stay for a while longer, go home? After having never been given choices, I was inundated. Maybe it was because I was in his home, or maybe because we had reached an unspoken understanding that I had some say and choice in what happened between us, I don't know, but this felt new, different and as a result all the more exciting.

I opted for a glass of water and a moment in the bathroom, where I changed back into the clothes I had come in and left the dress draped carefully over the back of the antique chair that stood in the corner. I came out to find him waiting for me. He held out his hand and I didn't hesitate to put my hand in his. He smiled the most brilliant smile that made him look ten years younger.

We hadn't spoken much. He took me to another room, his office, all wooden panels, much like the front hallway and tall bookcases. There he handed me an envelope.

"Your contract," he'd said, "You don't have to read it now. Take it home and make sure it's all to your satisfaction. I leave tomorrow for Italy, but will be back within two weeks."

Taylor was waiting by the front door and once again, Mr. Cullen... _Edward_, kissed my hand and said, "Until the next time we meet, please take care."

How was it that someone who could treat me in this most gentleman-like fashion could then write such an impersonal email? I just can't understand it. I mean, I know that it's on our work system, but surely a bit of humanity, or even a casual reference to our dinner wouldn't be inappropriate. He could at least have hinted at something more that no one else would pick up on; he's clearly a smart guy.

_Maybe he got what he wanted... And you know the saying, out of sight, out of mind..._

I want my inner voice to shut up. And I want more than ever to ask Rose and Angela about it. But can I really tell them about what's happened? I'll have to tell them everything, and while earlier this morning I felt more confident about where I stood in terms of Mr. Cullen... _Edward... _after last night, in the cold, hard light of this email I'm now not sure. Then again, maybe they'll have a different perspective on it and be able to explain to me if I am being a fool, or alternatively why he is seems to switch between hot and cold more often than a faulty tap.

I decide to wait and see how I feel about it on Friday when I see them both together for our usual drinks. He's away for now, so there is little I can do about anything, anyway.

As I start packing up for the day, I can feel the need to cry become all the more stronger.

_You knew this would probably happen_.

My inner voice is not doing much to allay my fears. Fooling around with the boss rarely comes to any good. 

THURSDAY 

Mike holds out the paperwork he has kindly filled out for me.

"Here you go, all done. Are you sure you don't need any help? I've got a break coming up so I can come and keep you company."

Mike really is quite amazing. The man doesn't know when to quit.

"No, really, it's fine. I'll need to concentrate so it's probably best if I get to it." I feel much calmer this morning. Much more myself.

"No problem. Another time."

See? Amazing. He really doesn't get it. 

oOo 

The door to Storage Six swings open easily and when I turn on the lights, most of them flicker on. I remember there was some glass or something on the floor the last time was I was in here so I walk in tentatively. Nothing, no crunch under my feet. Mike must have gotten maintenance to come and do some much needed work. I'm impressed. Mike's not usually the most observant or considerate of people unless it directly affects him in a positive way.

In this clearer light it will be easier to find the box that I'm after. I quickly find box 7890 and put it to one side to take out with me when I leave. I falter slightly as I immediately recall the last time I was here. Instinctively my muscles tense and I feel a jolt of excitement as I recall what happened. It's silly, but I can't help looking around me to see that I am really alone this time. Then I feel angry at myself. I don't want to think about the email that he sent me. Was this all just a game to him and now that he's had his fun it's going to be business as usual? I feel humiliated at the thought.

I shake my head and try to refocus. I know I can lose myself in my work. And now that I know my job is secure – I anticipate my sarcastic inner voice reminding me exactly who I now work for and tell her to shut up – I can continue. I'm at an interesting point after all.

Box 7891 must be somewhere here, close-by. I move several other boxes in this area but come up empty. It's such a mess in here. You'd imagine that the Museum would keep things in better order considering how important its work is, but all the storage rooms are like this, crammed and disorganised. This is no exception.

I'm not having much luck. I glance around. Maybe it was misplaced when all the boxes were moved up here. I move farther into the long, narrow room and it gets progressively more dusty as I go.

8012... 8398... it's unlikely that the box I'm after will have found it's way all the way down here. Despite this, I continue towards the end of the room. I smile at my own futile actions. Clearly I'm an optimist and think that my box will suddenly appear before me.

I get to the back of the room. The light is dimmer here, three of the bulbs overhead aren't working, which means all of the boxes are shrouded in darkness. I peer at them but can't make out the numbers very well. I sigh and turn around, giving up on finding my box when I notice a couple of numbers on the side of box ..91. I can't see the rest of them, but could this be it?

I have to stretch over another two boxes in order to get to this one that is sitting by itself on the floor. It's an awkward angle from here, but it's the easiest way to get to it. My fingers are just out of reach of the box handles. I push myself a little further, now on tip toes, and manage to grab hold of it.

"Yes," I say triumphantly before letting out a yelp. Pain courses down my right arm as it scrapes along a sharp object poking out of the cardboard box lying next to the one I'm after. Stubborn as ever, I don't let go as I heave my box to sit on top of the pile by my side. There's no way I'm letting go of this sucker, especially now that I've sustained an injury because of it. I think of my father and hear him chuckling at me, saying, "Hard headed as ever."

I look at my arm and can already see drops of blood on the floor. Twisting it around, I see I've badly grazed the outer part of my arm and that it's bleeding quite a lot. I take a tissue that I find in my pocket and wipe my arm, getting as much blood as I can. Pressing it to my arm I hope that this will give me time to get to the nearest restroom where I can clean it more. 

oOo 

The spoils of my adventure in Storage Six sit on my desk. 7890 is also with me and sits on the floor by my feet. Riley has just left, as has Mike, who, at the sight of blood, passed out and had to be propped up in Rosalie's seat for ten minutes. She was not thrilled at this turn of events.

Apparently the English, while terrifically reserved in every other situation, suddenly come to life at the slightest sign of an accident. I don't think I've solicited such concern from work colleagues before. Even Lauren made an appearance. She only leaves her office at the end of every day. Today, she's not only come to see me and my injury, but she's also been crammed in a tiny space with Riley. This is big news as she can't stand the sight of him since their affair.

Now, finally, the office is quiet. Rosalie has gone to take her tour; I am bandaged up and box 7891 waits to be opened.

I slide my fingers along the sealed top. Compared to all the other boxes in that section of Storage Six, this box is surprisingly dust free. _Ah, well, all the better for me_, I think as I reach for the scissors. I'm just about to open up the box when my phone rings.

"Bella, it's Jake."

He and I spoke last night and caught up on our news. He is very excited at being over in Paris as he is studying a newly discovered section of the Paris catacombs. Jake specializes in 'The Reality of Mythologies'. It's also the working title of his latest book. I tease him about being obsessed with fairy tales. A lot. He likes to think of himself as Indiana Jones.

"Can't get enough of me?"

"When could I ever? Why do you think I followed you to college?"

"That was only because you realized all the tail you could chase." I run the sharp blade of the scissors down along the seal and fold the cardboard flaps down.

"You wound me with your cynicism."

"Am I wrong?"

"Not entirely."

"Ah, I knew it." I peer into the box and pull out the first bundle of papers and photos. "You can't keep secrets from me."

"I never could."

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call? Don't tell me that you can't get enough of my dulcet tones."

"No, this is vaguely work-related, so, you know, you don't need to feel guilty or anything." Jake is another one who knows and respects how much I love my work.

"Oh, well, in that case I'm delighted you called." I can't help but tease him.

"I knew you would be... Anyway, I just wanted to check in with you about those dot patterns you were talking about yesterday. Do you have an example of one that you could send me?"

"Sure. Why?"

"I'll show you mine when you've shown me yours." Yes, Jake gives as good as he gets. 

FRIDAY 

For the third time in three days, I stare incredulously at my computer screen. I know I've thought this before, but really, I can't believe what I see.

I pick up my phone and call the international number I have for Jake.

He picks up with the gruff hello of someone who has his mind on something else.

I don't bother with pleasantries. "There's got to be a mistake."

"That's what I thought, but Bella, these are genuine nineteenth century markings. We got the carbon dating results today."

"They can't be genuine."

"You need to come and see for yourself."

Two pictures on my screen sit side by side. One is the photograph I was looking for in box 7891. It was taken at the caves at Chauvet-Pont-d'Arc, in southern France. The other is a photograph Jake took at the Paris catacombs yesterday. Both seem to show exactly the same image.

The reason I can't believe my eyes is that the caves at Chauvet were only discovered in 1994. So how the hell does a prehistoric image have an identical copy, both in size and pattern, that appears to have been recreated nearly 35,000 years later in the catacombs of Paris? 

oOo 

I clutch the glass of red wine that Angela hands me and almost down it in one gulp. I look up to find both Rosalie and Angela looking at me.

"What?"

"Oh nothing," says Rosalie dryly, "I just hadn't realized until a moment ago that you might be a border-line alcoholic."

I laugh, and although both of them smile, I can see a trace of concern in their faces.

"So, what's up? How's your week been?" Angela's question is said too casually. I haven't really spoken to her since last weekend. Rosalie has stopped rummaging through her bag and is still as she too waits for my answer.

"Oh, you know, fine..." I reply. I am being mean, but I can't help playing with them a little. I have made my mind up. I am going to tell them about Mr. Cu... _Edward_. I need their advice. I also need their opinion on my contract and what I should do about Jake's call yesterday.

Rosalie's stony look says it all. I know her well enough to know that she is about to launch in a full scale assault. I laugh and hold my hands up. "Okay, okay, I'm teasing you... " and with that I start to recount what has happened since last weekend. I try not to go into too many sordid details, but even the abbreviated highlights wouldn't look out of place in one of Rosalie's fan fiction stories. 

oOo 

"...and he was such a gentleman last night and said he'd see me in two weeks. Then I get this email yesterday from him." I slide a printout of said email to them both. "I know it's to my work account but it's so cold, I don't know what to think..."

The looks on their faces would be comical if this wasn't my life we were talking about. It's a mix between shock, incomprehension and admiration. I have told them, albeit in vague terms, about my encounters with Edward.

_Edward... well done. It's getting easier to say isn't it?_

I block out the inner snark, only to hear Rosalie be a terrifyingly similar substitute for it.

"You let your boss get you off on the Tube?"

"Errr," I reply before she continues.

"And then you let him get you off again in the Museum?" This is like being reprimanded by my parents, "Where you work? Where I work?" she continues.

Her face is an interesting combination of admiration and horror. She ends her recap of my story with the statement, "No wonder you didn't want to go to dinner with him on Tuesday."

Hearing it said like this, it all seems very sordid. I hate being reminded of it.

"Why didn't you tell us all of this?" She asks. She looks hurt. It makes the feelings of guilt I've had over the last week resurface. By not talking to them, I've been feeling as if I've been lying to my friends. I've been studiously ignored Ang's calls, texting her to say that I'd see her tonight, and with Rose, well, with her I've been plain evasive.

"I'm sorry." I say quietly. I'm embarrassed as I wonder about what my best friends must think of me after what I've just told them. In this moment I realize that I have made a mistake in not telling them before now. They know me the best, have never judged me and have always been there for me. I haven't been fair to them.

Rosalie isn't one to let something this important go. "That's not an answer."

"I know... I just..." Admitting mistakes is never easy I know, but this is excruciating. By admitting how I feel about what's happened makes it more real. It doesn't come easily and I can still feel the relucance to expose myself. "...I didn't want you to think badly of me." This isn't a lie but when I look at Rose I know she's still waiting.

I look down at the tabletop as I ask, "Do you think I'm being stupid?"

I'm not sure I want to know the answer. The answer might not be the one I secretly want to hear.

I peek up at their faces. I'm not sure what Rosalie sees in mine, but her face softens.

"It's just not like you sweetheart. It's all pretty... extreme..."

"I know. I just... I don't know." I shake my head.

"How do you feel about him? Honestly." Angela as ever gets to the heart of the matter.

"It scares me so much. But I have to tell you, I've never felt anything like I have when I'm with him. He makes me feel different... alive."

She looks worried at my answer. They both do. Hell, I am as well. I take a deep breath.

"Look, I'm going to the bar to get another bottle. Here's my contract. When I get back we can talk about it all. I know it's a lot to take in, but I really need your advice."

And with that I put my contract on the table and make my way to the bar. Being a Friday night, the bar is heaving and it's at least four people deep to the bar. That's okay with me, I don't mind the wait. It gives me a reprieve of sorts and will give Ang and Rose time to dissect things.

Twenty minutes later, I'm back in my seat and extremely nervous.

They have their game faces on. This could go either way.

"What do you want us to say Bella?" I realize that Angela has opted for bad cop. This is unusual. Of the two of them, I would have thought that she would be the one to push for me to go with my heart. Then again, she is the lawyer. Maybe the contract he's given me isn't as straightforward as I thought it was when I read through it.

I was prepared for this approach from Rosalie, but coming from Angela, it's thrown me more than I expected. I stumble over my words as I say, "I don't know. I know that the likelihood of the situation working out with him is slim, but I just figure that it's the first time that I've been remotely attracted to someone for a long time... and I didn't think the contract was that bad. I mean, I know I report to him, but he doesn't dictate the direction I want to pursue in my research, nor what I can publish, as long as he gets a one month grace period to read any articles first. That seems okay to me as long as it secures my funding for as long as I want the job..." I'm babbling but can't seem to stop. I'm vaguely aware I might be making a bit of a fool of myself.

Angela has the kindness to intervene. "Bella. Stop and breathe." I do as she suggests.

"I've had a quick look through the contract, and I have to say that it is very favorably weighted toward you. If it's a game he is playing, then it doesn't seem to be professionally motivated. Well, other than the fact that if the affair got out, it could make it hard for you to find such a solid platform to work from. On the other hand, you've been in a much worse position." She looks at me meaningfully, and then to Rosalie. "Per the contract, Bella gets to keep all copyright over her work." She shrugs apologetically at having to dredge up the past. "That didn't happen the last time."

Rosalie agrees. "Your work would be safe. It's more the unconventional nature of your, er, relationship... You're right. I'd be confused. And the email he sent after last night doesn't exactly bode well." She looks at me and adds, "Sorry B, I don't want to sound callous. I just want you to be careful."

"I know... I just... I wish I could understand where he's coming from..."

"I hate to break it to you ladies, but most men are peculiarities. It's probably best we don't try and over-analyze." Ang sighs before she continues, "Just be careful. I don't want to see you get hurt either, but I guess we should give A. C. the benefit of doubt."

I glare at her when I hear the nickname.

"Hey, it stands until he truly proves himself otherwise. He's not doing a great job so far."

I have to concede to this.

"What are you going to do about Paris?"

"Well, I know that it says in my contract that I have to inform him of any new discoveries, but I figure that I haven't actually discovered anything for certain yet. I think I'll go over tomorrow for a weekend break to visit my friend, and if I happen to visit his work and see for myself, I can inform the Foundation then." Rose is nodding; Angela is frowning. "Don't you think that'll work?" I ask her.

"You can certainly make the case although it's a gray area. There's an email trail of course, so bear that in mind..."

I love Angela and her covert mind.

"Okay. I'll be careful, and if anything comes from the visit I'll leave word for them immediately." 

oOo 

I'm home and have finished packing a small suitcase for my trip to Paris. I have already booked my Eurostar ticket. I haven't checked my personal email since Monday so decide to log on quickly before I go to bed.

To: BellaSwan101(at)gmail(dot)com  
From: EACullen(at)CullenFoundation(dot)com  
Date: Wednesday, 15th January 2011, 06:05  
Subject: Last night

My dear Isabella,

I hope this finds you well. How are you feeling? How is your throat? Have you been taking the syrup?

I very much enjoyed our evening together and I am already looking forward to seeing you again. I wonder if I might be so bold as to invite you to dinner next Saturday? My work here is progressing well, so I should be back in a week rather than two.

Yours affectionately,

Edward

I could kick myself. This email was sent the same date as the one he sent to my work address. I just haven't checked this account for a while. I hadn't thought to check it as so few people use it these days. _I wonder how he got this address? _I try to remember if I used this account when I applied for the job. I don't think I did, I'm sure I used my Harvard account. So how did he get it? Have I misjudged him?

Well, this latest turn certainly gives me food for thought as I get ready for bed. If I was confused before, it's nothing to what I am now.

As I get into bed, I try to put him out of my mind, but I know I'm in for a sleepless night. 

**oOo**  
**End Notes:  
**  
**The caves at Chauvet-Pont-d'Arc have been mentioned before in Chapter Seven, but if you want to be reminded of them take a look at www(dot)culture(dot)gouv(dot)fr/culture/arcnat/chauvet/en/index(dot)htm**

**oOo**  
**The sommelier at Un Souvenir Léger in Chapter Ten was borrowed from Sleepyvalentina's Fall to Ruin One Day. Well done Breaking Aurora, who was the first to spot it. If you don't know it, this is a fantastic story in which Bella and Edward re-connect after ten years and a less than happy separation... Go now and read and say hello from me.**

**oOo  
Come and find me on Twitter as ElleNathan**


	12. Chapter 12 Underground

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Anybody who wants to be a thief and plagiarize this story, please move on. It's just bad manners.  
**

**Rated M.  
**

**oOo  
Author's Note, 13th March 2012:  
**

**My thanks to my beta Songster and my pre-readers gkkstitch and arfalcon.**

**Dear Reader,**  
**I can't tell you how much your reviews and messages mean to me. Thank you for still being here. I know it's been far too long. RL is slowly but finally easing up so I hope to be here more regularly. Meantime I'd love to know what you think.**

**Now, what's in store for Bella in Paris after her call from Jacob and the picture he sent her?**

**oOo**

The Past! the dark, unfathom'd retrospect!  
The teeming gulf! the sleepers and the shadows!  
The past! the infinite greatness of the past!  
For what is the present, after all, but a growth out of the past?

**from: Passage to India in Leaves of Grass  
****by Walt Whitman**

SATURDAY

Most of the carriage has emptied as I pack up the last of my papers and snap my bag closed. I've been trying to concentrate on reading some of the reports I brought with me. It hasn't been easy. I've caught myself daydreaming more than once during the journey. Images from my evening with Mr. Cullen… _Edward…_ keep haunting me – the red of silk against my white skin, the feel of his breath on my cheek. I'm confused. Why am I doing this?

_Maybe that talk with Angela and Rose helped and you've accepted your attraction to him… _

I wrestle my snark back into her box and try to put a lid on it. I don't want to hear from her, or think about him this weekend.

I step onto the platform and take in my first impressions of Paris. The one other time I've been here the only thing I saw was the interior of Charles de Gaulle airport, when I had to get a connecting flight years ago. I'm excited to see more of the city, as well as spending time with my good friend. The fact that there is some interesting work-related research to look at is an added bonus.

The main structure of the Gare du Nord is a hundred and fifty years old, but this part of the station is modern, adapted for the Eurostar rail link that connects the United Kingdom and France. I follow the stream of people as they make their way to the exit. Every now and then, sliding doors at the end of the platform that lead out into the Paris morning slide open to let passengers out. I await my turn to go through passport control. Along with everyone else in the line, I crane my neck to scan the expectant faces that are trying to look in from the other side of the sliding doors. I can't spot Jake, although this doesn't surprise me. He isn't known for his punctuality.

Passport checks are quick and efficient even in the non-European Community line, and soon I am ushered on my way. As I step out, I hear my name being called and turn to see a handsome, tall, dark man striding towards me.

"Jake!"

He envelopes me in his warm arms and his hug makes me feel safe and home. "Welcome to Paris, B."

oOo

"Were you hungry Bella?"

Jake is grinning as he watches me polish off the rest of my croissant. I look up and smile at him.

"You know me. I always get hungry when I travel."

I take a sip of my café au lait, and it almost burns the roof of my month. I splutter trying to resist the urge to spit it out.

"Lady-like as ever I see."

"Very funny."

He smiles back at me. "Seriously, it's good to see you."

"I've missed you too."

"I know. I'm hard to resist."

I look up and can see him looking serious. If it was anyone else, I might be tempted to think he was being arrogant. I know he's not. And he knows that I know. We've enjoyed playing this game for a long time now.

I put my spoon down and with my straight face in place, reply, "I know. Does this mean that there is something officially wrong with me because I don't want to jump your bones?"

We look at one another a beat longer before he starts laughing.

"There's always been something wrong with you, Bella, but I won't tell anyone if you don't."

And this is what I love about Jacob. It's easy being with him. No mixed messages. Just he and I being who we are. It's always been like this, ever since we became best friends in high school. He complements me in every way.

It's for this reason I suppose that many people over the years have found it strange that we've never made a move towards being more than just friends, but there is a reason. We figured it out years ago – the night of our school prom as it happens.

Of course, he was my date. I don't think he even asked me, we just knew we'd be going with one another. At the end of the evening he walked me home. We were both a little tipsy from the punch that someone had thoughtfully spiked with vodka. We were reminiscing, and as we came to my house, he asked me outright if I'd ever thought about being with him in a more than just-friends way. I was so shocked he'd asked me that I told him the truth. Yes, I had wondered about it. He'd taken my hand and, in his deep voice, had asked if he could kiss me. I can't say I wasn't enthusiastic in my response.

After less than a minute of our lips touching, we pulled away and he'd said, just as seriously as before, "Bella, I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but that was what I imagine kissing my sister would be like." I was so relieved he'd felt it was as wrong as I had, I pulled him into a fierce hug and whispered, "Me too. Let's never tell anyone about this."

"What are you thinking about? You have that cross-eyed, far-away-in-neverland look you sometimes get." Jacob's voice interrupts my reminiscing.

"You know how to flatter a girl, don't you? No wonder I never went for you." I smile at him. "I was just remembering our one and only kiss."

"It was quite something wasn't it?" He says and then winks at me. "I bet I've spoilt your experience with other men right?" He laughs and although I try and join in I can only smile. My mind has involuntarily gone back to Tuesday evening, and the other encounter I've had with Edward Cullen. I realize with a dropping feeling in my stomach that not once has he tried to kiss me.

oOo

The entrance to the Parisian Catacombs that Jacob and his team are using for their study is narrow and dark. They have a generator rigged up at the surface, and it provides a scant but welcome light as we slowly make our way down some steep steps to the passageways that run underneath the French capital.

These catacombs were first created in the late 18th Century to hold the bones transferred from Paris' then overcrowded city cemeteries. They lie in a mile long section of the old, abandoned underground quarries of the city. Unsurprisingly, the French don't want to lose any tourists so only a small part of the ossuary is open to the public. Before we start our descent Jake gleefully tells me that I should stay close. The mine system in which the catacombs lie is said to run for a total of about 170 miles.

The section that Jacob is working in is to the south of the passage system. As we climb the steep stairs that lead down, the air becomes damp and heavy. Water drips down the walls, the sound echoing and disturbing the stillness of the space. It adds to the closeted, claustrophobic atmosphere. The stairway comes to an end, and we find ourselves in a passageway that continues to slope down. Jacob leads the way, flashlight in hand. It's getting warmer, and after a brisk ten-minute walk I'm covered in a sheen of perspiration.

The corridor suddenly opens out a little into a small chamber. It is now that I am thankful I don't suffer from any phobias because on each side of the chamber are piles of human bones stacked waist high, and the top of them, in a macabre display are rows upon rows of human skulls. They take on an eerie, yellowish color in the flashlight and although I'm not spooked by them, I am still glad I am with Jacob and that we keep moving.

We take a right and then a left, and I am soon disoriented. We continue to pass more chambers with the most extraordinary displays of bones – some made into the form of islands and altars. Light from our flashlights bounces off the bones casting some into shadow. The effect makes it seem as though there's some movement amongst them. While rationally I know this can't be, I find myself looking back to double-check. The air is close and damp and adds to the creepiness of this place.

"How are you doing back there?" Jake asks, swinging the flashlight he is holding to make sure I'm still with him.

"Fine, fine. How much further is it?"

"About another five-minute walk." My face must give me away because in answer to something he sees there, he adds, "I know, it's amazing isn't it?"

oOo

Keeping up with Jake's quick strides has me out of breath by the time we come to a standstill.

"Are we here?"

"Nearly. We're not in the oldest part of the catacombs by any stretch of the imagination, but just up here is where the roof collapsed a month ago. A colleague of mine happened to be in Paris and called me right away. A few favors later and I got in on the preservation team."

"They're putting out an international call for research?"

"Yeah. Same old routine." Jake slows down ahead of me. "It's not ideal but at least I get to see it. And sneak you in. Gotta love the French and their disregard of protocol when it comes to beautiful women."

I roll my eyes at him as he stops. Jacob laughs. "Hey, you can always go home, you know."

"No way," I concede.

We come to a stop in front of a pile of rubble that's fallen into a large puddle of water. Jake looks down at it. "Watch out here. We've just been trying to make sure that the site is preserved as much as it can be until the research team gets here, but we're having an ongoing battle with the humidity."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see. Now, what's interesting here is that this particular part seems to have been closed off and hidden on purpose. Look, you can see... here..." All business, Jake points to the edges of a meter-wide gap in the walls next to us. "And here... is where the false wall was built and then mud added to this side of it to look as if it was just the same as the other dirt-walled corridors. We think this might have been the doorway originally."

I shiver but don't know why. The air is almost stifling around us now. I'm still trying to catch my breath after our walk, and I'd do anything for a glass of cold water right now. Panic starts to swell in my chest and I try to stifle it. It's making me feel a little queasy and my surroundings aren't helping the feeling. I try to rein in the adrenaline that is running through my veins and hope that'll help.

_You're with Jacob. Nothing is going to happen._

This helps me push the sensation back. There's just something about being down here that doesn't feel quite right, but I know it's in my mind. I will overcome this and so I distract myself with a question. "Why would someone go to all this trouble?"

"I have no idea," he says as he turns to look at me, "but you're going to love what you see in there."

I refocus my energy as Jake steps through a smallish hole in the side of the corridor and turns back to lend me hand.

We are now in another corridor that runs parallel to the one we were in a moment ago before it veers to the left. A little further down it opens out into a large chamber – much larger than any of the other 'rooms' we've passed through to get here. It is clear that this place is different. This is a true destination point, unlike the rest of the catacombs. It has no other doors or passageways leading from it.

The large area is oval-shaped and we are standing at one end of it. Unlike the passageways we've come through, the archeologists have this room brightly lit. Nothing is in shadow. And yet despite this, the unsettling feeling I had a moment ago escalates dramatically. It's totally irrational and I can't explain it. Before I can analyze this any further though, I stop in my tracks.

"What –?"

I can't help the surprised exclamation that escapes me; at the far end of the room is the most astonishing sight. There, bathed in this artificial light, are what can only be called three thrones. Each is dripping with the elaborate opulence associated with Rococo. Extravagant at best, gaudy at worst, it's the most unexpected thing to see.

"I know," Jacob says, "we've never seen anything quite like it."

"Why are they here?"

Jacob shrugs. "That's not the only crazy shit that's down here."

I turn to look at him and raise an eyebrow.

"Don't use that move on me, Swan; I taught you the eyebrow raise. Take a look around. See if you can spot the other bizarro things around here."

He leaves me to talk to one of the team he is working with, and I take a closer look at the room before me. There are bones in this room too, and after the walk we had to get here there shouldn't be any surprises at this. As Jacob so unsubtly hinted though, there's something different about them too. Unlike the clean washed bones in the catacombs that have been displayed in a pattern formation according to size and shape, the ones in here are full skeletons lying one on top of the other, five or six deep. To make the whole scene more macabre, they are still covered in the clothing that they were obviously wearing at the time of death. Chills are running up and down my spine at the disturbing sight. It's as if they have lain down on top of one another before falling into an eternal sleep.

All the skeletons are stacked at the end of the room where I am standing. There must be about a hundred of them. Around the chairs is clear except for the earth in the space in front of them. Unlike the dirt floors I've seen in the catacombs, it is dry in here, not damp. But more startling is that instead of the light brown color it should be, it is saturated a deep ruddy brown. It is clear that some sort of bloodletting went on here, but why? I am looking from the ground and then back to the skeletons when Jacob joins me again.

"Some sort of sacrifice?" I ask.

"Could be, although I've never heard of anything like this for the period. Have you?"

I shake my head.

"Come on. Let me show you what I know you've been desperate to see."

He leads me further into the room and past the chairs. There, on the wall, is the image he had sent me.

I gasp. Up until now I've secretly thought that Jacob had been playing a prank on me. But that is dispelled immediately. This is very real and right in front of me.

My hand involuntarily raises and stops an inch or so from the wall.

"I can't believe this," I say mainly to myself.

On the wall in front of me is an image almost as familiar to me as my own reflection. On the stone wall is carefully painted a series of black dots. They are arranged in a distinct almost semi-circular pattern. Just underneath them to the right is a white mark that is more faded. Despite this, I know what it is. I know what it is because I've seen an exact copy of this composition elsewhere. Every detail is the same.

Right down to the white handprint.

oOo

A steaming bowl of French onion soup is in front of me, and Jake slides into the booth holding a plate with some bread on it and a bowl of soup for himself. On the table between us are all of my notes.

"This just can't be right." I move the bowl to the right as I look over some of the photos I have taken of the catacomb hieroglyphs. We were able to get the photos printed up to the right scale and I'm looking at them again. I have the pictures from the Chauvet caves right next to them. If I didn't know better, they could be photographs of the same picture.

"You keep saying that," he says, unable to keep the humor out of his voice.

"But it's true. Look, the dots are identical. That's just not possible."

"Coincidence?"

I give him the stink-eye.

"Two paintings done 35,000 and something years apart? In two utterly different locations? I think not."

"Okay. Other possibilities?" he asks. Jacob is as careful as I am when it comes to examining every conceivable option in front of him.

"Like what?"

"Well… Are we sure that the measurements and description of the cave paintings of Chauvet match these so exactly?"

"Yes!"

"How do you know? Have you been to the Chauvet caves?"

"You know I haven't." I know I sound huffy; it's a sore point for me. "It's a closed site and they have their allocated researchers set until 2020. I have the next best thing though…"

I reach into my bag and pull out the papers I bought with me from Box 7891. "Ah, here it is. I have the original report from the 1970s study." I push the photos and descriptions towards him. He picks them up and starts reading.

While he reads, I turn to my onion soup, and as I finish it off ten minutes later Jacob says, "Well, the report makes it sound very similar." He flips to the back of the document. "Do you know this McCarty guy? Have you ever spoken to him?"

"No. Although he was the lead researcher in that 1970s group, I had trouble getting information on him. I finally heard back yesterday that he died in 1981."

"Huh, that's annoying. How about the others in the team?"

"The other two are retired, and I didn't have time to track them down before coming here. The only other was a woman who was their assistant at the time. It was her first field trip, and she was next to useless at remembering anything about what they were working on. She was only 18 at the time."

"What else do you have there?" He picks up the photos. "Ah, these will help. You took these to the same scale right?"

"Yes. The 70s team were very detailed in their data," I reply, pulling out my measuring tape.

He compares the photograph to the ones I've just taken and gives a low whistle.

"They do look identical," he whispers reverently.

"I know," I whisper back.

He looks up at me smiling. "What are you waiting for? Let's see how similar these suckers are."

oOo

Jacob has been a saint since we left the underground tunnels. We've been sitting in the bistro since four in the afternoon. It's now eleven thirty and remnants of dinner and an empty bottle of wine are scattered on the table between us.

We've been over and over what we've seen in the catacombs and how it can fit with the prehistoric cave paintings. It's impossible. As far as we can see the two sets are identical, right down to the measurements between the dots and the dimensions of the handprint.

But here's the rub. We know that there is no way that anyone had been in the southern France caves from the time the last paintings were done until local cavers discovered them in 1940. No one knew of their existence, let alone had the chance to take precise measurements, only to reproduce them in Paris around the time of the French Revolution in the late 1700s. The copies are too similar; facsimiles of one another.

"Are you sure that the site in the catacombs hadn't been compromised before now?"

"Positive. They keep meticulous records of all wall collapses and subsidence in the catacombs. The last thing they want is anyone trapped or injured down there."

"Gah! This is just impossible. It makes no sense."

"Okay. Let's take a step back. Is there any other research out there that's similar to yours? Anyone else finding such anomalies?"

"Not that I know of," I mutter trying to avoid his eye. I know where this conversation will lead.

"What does that mean?" he asks, eyes narrowing. "You are talking to others in your field right?"

I look away and shrug. I don't want to talk about this. I know where it'll lead and it still feels so raw.

"Bella." I continue to look out of the window next to us but I can hear the warning in his tone, "Bella, hey, sweetheart, look at me."

I don't want to see the disappointment or pity in his eyes. I take a deep breath and turn to face him again. I'm surprised when I don't find either. I just find my best friend Jacob.

"It still hurts right?"

I bite my lip and nod. I really hope I don't start crying.

"You know James was one of those asshole exceptions. You're going to come across them from time to time, but that doesn't mean that it's anything to do with you. A lot of other people out there are good honest people. You're going to have to learn to deal with the bad and move on."

We can't live in a bubble. It doesn't work like that and I know that you know this."

It's not like I hadn't heard or thought about this before, but somehow, hearing it from the person I trust the most makes it feel more weighty, more true. And so I feel secure enough to voice my own deep-seated fear.

"Why didn't I spot it earlier? How could I not have known what he was doing? What he was like?" It's something that's continued to haunt me over the last year and has been exacerbated with my recent reckless behavior.

"Some bastards are damn good actors. But that's not your problem. So, okay, he pulled the wool over your eyes. So, okay, he stole credit for your work. But honey, ultimately, it's how you deal with it that counts. Are you going to let him silence you by hiding yourself away?"

I shrug. "I don't want to hurt anymore."

"I hate to tell you this B, but there is no guarantee in life that won't happen again. Hiding away is not going to prevent it. It will just make you weaker. You need to have faith in yourself and that also means in your work."

"I know," I mutter reluctantly and look intently at the wine bottle between us. I don't want to take his words to heart. It would mean abandoning the security blanket of functioning under-the-radar and that just feels like a huge burden to overcome. _As if that's been making you happy. Didn't you tell Rosalie and Angela that you've felt alive since taking a certain risk?_

"No, I don't think you do." I look up to see Jacob challenging me. "Just saying the words, Bella, doesn't mean you do know. You have to believe it. Your work is good. People know this and know what went on a year ago. Have a little faith in them as well."

I squirm a little in my seat. He's getting to me and knows it as he continues. "Any contact we have with others is a risk. Even our friendship." I frown. "I'm not saying I'm ever going to betray you, but you have to give other people the benefit of the doubt, just as you give it to me. Just because James fooled you doesn't mean that you should abandon your instincts. They've served you well, both in protecting you as well as giving you close friendships."

His words make sense, and I can feel them slowly penetrating the hard shell I've tried to build up around me. _You know you want to trust…_

"Since when did you get so wise?"

"Do you really want to know?" I nod. "Since I started dating Leah."

"What? I thought all was going well?"

"It is, but I'm not going to say it's been easy. She's as nutty as it gets, and sometimes I honestly don't know if I can stand it."

"What do you mean?"

"She's so high maintenance and has to control her environment. A month ago she bought me a MacBook because, and I quote, it's her 'personal preference for a clean, streamlined operating system, not the Byzantine monstrosity preferred by adolescent gamers and power-hungry corporations with no respect for finite resources.' Honestly, can you believe it? It drives me insane. But I believe in what we have together, and I'm willing to take the chance."

"But what if she hurts you?" I ask before I can stop myself, and now I'm thinking about the man who has been starring in my dreams of late.

Jake reaches over and grabs my hand.

"I hope she doesn't, B. All I can say is that, right here, right now, she's given me more than I could have ever hoped for. And that's something I wouldn't give up on."

The memories of how I've felt every time I've met _him_ flood my mind, and my body instinctively seems to react to them. My heart seems to beat that much faster; I can feel my cheeks turning red with the intense blush that comes with my recollections. Can I really take a chance with him? I'm not even certain what my instincts are trying to tell me about that particular situation.

And then there's this new development with my research. What am I going to do about it? Jake's right. I'm going to have to put out some feelers to see if anything like this has happened before. I'm also going to have to notify my boss about it, which I'm not looking forward to doing. I still feel disingenuous I haven't warned him that I'm in Paris and why.

_Yeah, that could be tricky. Particularly as he's the guy you've just been obsessing about…_

I suddenly feel overwhelmed, and ever sensitive to my feelings, Jacob squeezes my hand and says, "Come on B. Let's get you to the hotel. It's been a long day."

I look down at the paperwork on the table and sigh. "But what the hell is going on Jake?"

"We're not going to figure it out tonight when we're both tired. Come on. Let's get you settled."

I allow him to gather our papers together and get me into my coat. Despite being tired, I'm reluctant but Jake misreads it.

"Hey, I'm sorry you can't stay with me. They put me up in a studio and there isn't enough room for me, let alone guests."

I don't correct him about why I'm a little apprehensive. Instead, I smile at him and say, "Don't worry about it." It's just that once I get to the hotel I know there's no putting off the email I'll to have to send.

oOo

To: EACullen (at) CullenFoundation (dot) com  
From: DrIMSwan (at) TheBritMuseum (dot) org  
Date: Sunday, 19th January 2011, 01:43  
Subject: Paris

Dear Mr. Cullen

I wanted to let you know that I'm currently in Paris. I am visiting a friend who is working on a new project and by chance I've come across something that could be related to my own research. In line with our new contract I wanted to let you know about this development. I am going to stay and do a little more investigating before heading back to London on Monday. I'll let you know what I find.

Bella

oOo

The screech of the phone jars me from my sleep and for a moment I'm disoriented. It takes me until the third ring to realize that I am in a hotel room in Paris. I'm still not fully awake as I answer.

"Great, you're awake Bella. Did you sleep well?"

"Jake?"

"Well, I suppose that answers my question."

"You're too loud and cheerful. What time is it?"

"Seven thirty."

"And why are you calling?" I ask as I scowl at the bedside clock that confirms what Jake has just told me. "You do know it's a Sunday right?" I grumble. It wouldn't be so bad if I hadn't spent an hour agonizing over the five lines I eventually sent to Edward Cullen telling him where I was. I decided to keep details formal and to a minimum. I'll be more definite when I know more and can say what we're dealing with. It was past two in the morning before I finally crawled into bed.

Jacob laughs at my grumpiness. "I know. But how often do I have my best friend in town? Not only do I want to show you the best tourist spots, but you have another invitation to visit the site." He adds, "Only if you want to that is."

Damn he's good. If anything was going to pry me from my warm bed, it's that.

"Fine," I huff, "give me half an hour."

"Great, I'll come by with coffee then."

I struggle out of bed and get into the shower, the water heating my skin and waking me up more gently than the ringing of the phone earlier. I feel my muscles relaxing and the headache that threatened begins to ease away. I start looking forward to the day ahead. I must tell Jake that I'd love to go and explore Montmartre. I wonder if we're anywhere near that area, and I realize that I have no real idea where I'm staying. It doesn't bother me too much, although it usually would. I trust Jacob completely and I know he'll look after me.

I'm still thinking about this and how it connects to our conversation last night as I dry my hair. A knock on my door disturbs my train of thought. It swings open to reveal a fresh looking, handsome Jake.

"Come in." I shut the door behind him. "How are you all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at such an early hour?"

"As I recall, mornings never suited you, which is why I've ordered room service. You'll be better company once you've eaten."

"Ha Ha." I deadpan.

He pecks me on the cheek and gives me his megawatt smile. "Don't be like that B; you know I love you any time of the day."

We both jump when there is a loud thud on the door to my room. It's so unexpected I put my hand over my mouth too late to stop the surprised cry that escapes me.

"What the hell…"

Jake's words get lost in a short set of sharp knocks on the door.

I laugh, trying to settle my nerves. "I guess room service has arrived." I move to the other end of the room and swing open the door to allow them in, only to find myself so startled by what I see that I take two involuntary steps back.

"Are you okay?" Jake moves towards me to see what's wrong, but I barely hear what he's just said.

There, framed in the door is the last man I am prepared to see. And he is scowling at me; still angry, still displeased, and still the most beautiful creature I've ever seen.

**oOo**

**Author's Note:**

**The Parisian Catacombs are fascinating. If you are in Paris I would recommend you visit them. For more information visit http: / www (dot) catacombes-de-paris (dot) fr/English (dot) htm**

**There is an homage buried in this chapter. Can you spot it?**

**Em aka (at) xoEMC gave me a delicious recipe for onion soup ages ago. This chapter is for you.**

**I am (at) ellenathan on Twitter.**


	13. Chapter 13 Visitor

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer. Anybody who wants to be a thief and plagiarize this story, please move on. It's just bad manners.**

**Rated M. Younger readers shouldn't be here.**

**oOo**

**Author's Note , July 16****th**** 2012:**

**My thanks as always to Songster for her beta-ing skillz and gkkstitch and arfalcon for their amazing comments. All three of them made this chapter ****so**** much better. **

**Dear Reader,**

**I'm glad you're still here for the ride, I know it's been so long between updates. Thanks to all of you who have remembered me and sent me reviews, tweets and messages. I read them all and I can't tell you how much they mean to me. And a big thank you also to whoever nominated this story for ****Fic of the Week over at The Lemonade Stand. **

**So, someone is at Bella's hotel door in Paris and he doesn't seem to be too pleased... Let me know what you think of this chapter.**

**oOo**

"Silence is worse; all truths that are kept silent become poisonous."

**from:****Thus Spoke Zarathustra**

**by****Friedrich Nietzsche**

SUNDAY MORNING continued…

I'm frozen to the spot. I am vaguely aware of Jacob shifting uneasily next to me, but I am focused on the man in front of me. I see Edward suddenly straighten up, his presence growing exponentially with this small gesture. What is he doing here?

I try not to think about the fact that I'm calling him Edward.

"What are you doing here?" I blurt out, angry that I can be so easily distracted by him despite my best efforts.

His eyes, that have been fixed on Jake since I opened the door, now shift to mine. There's something different about them. I can't quite place what.

"I could ask you the same thing," he says in such a venomous voice that it startles me. Yes, he's been angry with me before – okay, in fact most of the times I've met him – but this takes it to a whole other level.

"Hey," Jake starts moving forward, "I don't know who you are, but watch your mouth."

I automatically move forward with Jake. I know it's stupid given that he's about twice as big as me, but I feel protective of Jake. I don't want this getting out of hand, and from the looks of both Jake's and Edward's faces it isn't going to take much for that to happen. It won't lead to anything good. I jump in to try and head off a situation that feels far too charged for this time in the morning.

"Jake," I say, grabbing his arm. "This is my new boss – remember I told you about him? He is from the Cullen Foundation. Actually, he is a Cullen… I mean, this is Edward Cullen."

I cringe inwardly as my rambling introduction is a clear indication of my nervousness.

I look up at the man standing in my doorway. His eyes are fixed on the hand that I have on Jake's arm. If looks alone could do it, he would be burning a hole in me right now, and I snatch my hand away before I realize how ridiculous I am being.

Jake is still scowling, but my words seem to have gotten through to him. Glancing again to the man in front of us, I hope that he too will settle some of the tension that's bouncing freely around the room.

Edward's stance is still rigid and his jaw tightens further before he says a rather stilted, "Pleasure to meet you."

It's clear these four words have taken an effort to say, and it's only now I see other signs of stress in his body. His eyes have shadows underneath them that I've never noticed before, and rather than the golden eyes I've been used to seeing they are now a mahogany color. I wonder if he has been taken ill. It would explain a lot. With that thought, my worries turn from whether he is angry with me, to the fact that he might be sick. I need to find out.

"Jake," I say, turning to my best friend. "Would you mind giving us a couple of minutes? I'll meet you downstairs in 20 minutes. And I need to finish getting ready and stuff." It's said as calmly as I can manage and I really hope he is buying this.

He turns to me, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'll finish up here and grab room service when it comes. Then we can leave, okay?"

He looks torn, but I've left him little option. He grabs my hand and squeezes it before he makes his way out of the room.

For his part, Edward Cullen lives up to the nickname Rosalie and Angela have given him. He barely moves out of Jake's way, which means that Jake is forced to turn sideways to get through the doorway.

I would roll my eyes at such childish behavior if I didn't just realize that I've effectively isolated myself with the person I'd rather not be alone with – certainly not when he looks so pissed.

_Although it didn't end so badly the last time you were both alone together…_

Snark not helping.

And the thought brings color to my cheeks that would probably match the dress I was wearing that night… I shake my head trying to dislodge the memory and try to look at anything but him.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Cullen?"

I glance up, and wish I hadn't. His darkened eyes are trained on me and the frown on his face deepens.

"As you know, it's Edward," he says in all seriousness, "and you could invite me in."

I continue to be amazed at his attitude towards me especially considering what we did only five days ago – no, don't go there. I manage to push the thought out of my mind as best I can. I can act in a polite fashion, even if he can't.

"Would you like to come in?" I ask, as I turn and walk back into my rather small hotel room.

I quickly scan the room and am horrified to see yesterday's bra on the back of the armchair. I quickly make my way over to it hoping that my body will shield it from unwanted attention. Just as I hear the click of the door behind me, I reach the chair and grab the garment, shoving it underneath the sweater also there. Suddenly the room feels a lot smaller than it did five seconds ago. I turn around to find Edward Cullen staring at the sweater I have just strategically repositioned. It does nothing to help my blush. Why does he make me feel so exposed?

_Maybe because he has seen most of you, in a rather compromising position?_

Great. Another reminder I could do without. With that, the temperature in the room seems to have increased by ten degrees. It's starting to feel rather oppressive in here.

He looks at the chair for another second before turning his hostile gaze on me.

"What are you doing here?" I repeat more weakly this time.

"What is the meaning of this?" As if by magic he has suddenly produced a sheet of paper from his suit pocket.

"I..." I am startled by his quick movement and shake my head to try and clear it.

My heart begins to beat a little faster. I need is to buy more time to get myself together, so I ask, "What is that?" I'm pretty sure I know what it is and I watch as he unfolds the paper. My suspicions are confirmed as I make out the print on the paper.

"My email..."

He takes a couple of steps forward. Any closer and we'll be touching and I can feel my body starting to react to his proximity. Memories of Tuesday night again flash through my mind – his closeness as he drew the silk dress back across my legs, his breath on my cheek. It all feels as if it were a dream in the cold light of this Sunday morning.

"Yes, your email."

His voice is sharp and condescending, and suddenly I am taken back to another time, another argument, that made me feel as if I was a small girl being told off for some foolishness. I am transported two years back, when James was critiquing the first draft of my PhD. His voice, as he questioned some of my proposals, was just as sneering. He talked _at_ me in a way that so belittled me, I was sure there was no way I'd get my doctorate. I had been so upset and confused by this change in his attitude that I didn't see it for what it was. I didn't see what he was about to do.

The same feeling is creeping through me now. The feeling that perhaps I am somehow at fault seeps its way poisonously into my thoughts. But this isn't right. I am not ten years old. I am good at what I do, and I know I haven't done anything really wrong. Why should I be made to feel like this? I stand my ground and make an effort to push my shoulders back. I will not be intimidated.

"I believe I was perfectly clear in it."

"Not enough for my liking, Miss Swan." The use of my name, sans the title I have earned, reminds me of Laurent. Why does Cullen keep doing this? Why can't he use my proper title? Hell, with what we've done, why can't he call me Bella when he insists on me calling him Edward? A flash of hurt ripples through me at the thought. It hurts to think that he has been playing games with me, but if this is how he acts there's little reason to think that it's been anything else but that. It's followed by a surge of anger. I don't deserve to be treated like this. And I certainly don't want it. No, I need to draw boundaries and show him that I am no push-over.

"If you need it explained again, I'll be happy to do so." Clearly my anger is helping me channel my courage so I stick with it. "I am visiting a friend here. While here, I have been fortunate enough to make an interesting discovery related to my research." I am running out of breath, but I'm determined to finish saying my piece. "As soon as I did, I let you know, per my new contract. I think you're familiar with it."

I don't even try to keep the acidity out of my voice. If he is going to treat me like an imbecile, I am more than willing to stoop to his level and be equally antagonistic. Two can play at that kind of game, although I am somewhat surprised I have managed to make it this far. It's not a game I've ever been particularly successful at before.

I can see his jaw clench at my response and am inordinately pleased that I've managed to get to him in the way he has me.

Let's see how you like it, Mr. Cullen.

"And this is just pure coincidence, is it?" His tone hasn't changed. If anything it has become even icier.

"Of course it is."

"And you just so happen to be visiting this _'friend'_ of yours when you made your discovery?" As he says the word friend his tone hardens, dripping with condescension.

I take a step away from him to try and give myself some space to think. This conversation has taken an unexpected turn, and I'm not sure what exactly we are arguing about. Why is he focusing on Jacob? This all feels so... off. However, I do feel a pang of guilt. I don't particularly want to lie to him about the order of events, and remembering Angela's advice, don't want to break the terms of my contract either. I tread lightly around this.

"I haven't seen Jake since I've been in the UK, and this was a good chance to catch up. He might have mentioned that he was involved in an interesting project. I can't remember." I add, my voice breaking slightly, at the end. Why do I have to justify myself like this? What's the big deal?

"I see," is the only response I get, and again it piques my anger. I hate how I'm being made to feel for following up a good lead. So I probably should have told him before I left, but I only delayed informing him by a small amount. I just wanted to be sure this wasn't a red-herring. Surely he should be pleased with my using my initiative? So I add, "Any researcher would jump at the chance to see any new discoveries for themselves."

My doubts about what we are now discussing make my voice falter. He closes the distance between us again and I am trapped between him and the bed behind me. Not somewhere I want to be.

I glance down and see his hands are clenched. The level of his anger seems so extreme considering it's only been a minor delay in telling him. Okay, I'm not surprised he's annoyed that I didn't tell him before coming out here to France immediately, but really, is it so bad? I told him within 12 hours. But his reaction is so exaggerated that it makes me wonder how stable he is, and the thought worries me even more.

"Yes, I'm sure. Especially if there is also the chance of her seeing such a 'good friend'." There it is again. Sarcasm, and another biting jibe at my friendship with Jake.

_Maybe he is jealous._

Get a grip. That's not possible.

I decide to ignore such unhelpful thoughts and stick to the argument that he started. I remind myself that I haven't done anything gravely wrong. Okay then, so I'll call him out on it and see what he does_._

"Why are you so angry with me? I've told you about my discoveries."

He looks momentarily taken aback and baffled by my question before his eyes turn inky black. I've never seen eyes that do that. It's not possible, is it? What's wrong with him? I've never seen him like this.

I don't get the chance to think more about this as he says, "That clause is put in there for a reason." His voice is rising. There's a ferocity in his words that he seems to be barely in control of. "I expect you to follow the terms you've agreed to." He brings his hand down loudly onto the bedside table next to us and the noise makes me jump.

"And I did!" I manage to find my voice after the shock of his actions.

He shakes his head as he straightens up to his full height. There's something menacing in the movement – different from when he intimidated Jake a few minutes before. Everything about this conversation is turning south. If I'm being honest with myself, I'm now a little frightened. He is being so aggressive it's beginning to scare me a little. This is someone who could lose it if pushed. For the first time, I wonder if I'm actually safe here alone with him. This isn't the same as the other encounters we've had. They were charged in a different way. Here, now, he seems dangerous. What I know about him hardly screams 'safe and reliable', does it? Our encounters on the Underground, him finding me at work before I knew who he was... Wait, _he _knew who I was..._He _came after me.

I feel sick. How have I allowed myself be lulled into forgetting about this? Everything about this, our moments at work, in private... Oh no… Remembering these moments alongside his behavior now paints them all in a very dark light. Oh Christ… I feel sick. What have I done? How have I been sucked into this? Have I misread these moments? And I don't want to even think about what that in turn means about me. I am filled with self-doubt again.

My downward spiral is simultaneously interrupted and refueled.

"Then tell me why I don't believe you?" His hand comes down again, the sound reverberating from the nightstand, and I cringe and jump back against the bed. His erratic behavior is genuinely scaring me.

"Did you spend the night with him?"

Wha… what? I just don't get what he is saying. I feel as if I'm missing the key to this situation. It's my turn to look perplexed. Where does this question come from?

But before I can really grasp this thought my indignation kicks in. What business is it of his?

I meet his gaze, jaw set. "How dare you ask me that. It's no business of yours."

The fight seems to vanish from him. The atmosphere has shifted again. It is still intense but has taken on a completely different dynamic.

He lifts his hand up again, and I close my eyes expecting him to slam it down again on the desktop. Nothing happens. There is silence. I take a peek and see him looking wide-eyed at me. He raises his hand up again, and I can't stop myself from flinching. The frown on his face is immediate but not directed at me so much as to his hand. He stands stock-still, locked into that position. I'm not sure he's even breathing. Instead, he looks as though he is trying to figure something out. His hand is still, halfway between us. It seems as if he has made up his mind about whatever caused him to pause and slowly he brings it forward again. His movements are deliberate and tentative while the rest of him is tense. He is watching me closely as he extends a finger. I try to move away from it. But with nowhere to go it soon finds me and traces a path down my left cheek. I feel as if I am on fire, his finger scorching my already sensitive skin. He, on the other hand, visibly relaxes.

I think I must be echoing the wide-eyed look on his face. I am trying to work out what he is doing. I just wish I knew what he wanted.

"I won't hurt you. You have to know that," he whispers.

"What?" I whisper back. "No… no, I don't… What's going on?"

"I hardly know myself," he says, more to himself than to me. What does that even mean? I shake my head and fix my gaze on the carpet under my feet. I don't want him this close to me. I can't think straight when he is, especially when he is touching me. A part of me wants it… I can't breathe… It's too much. Too claustrophobic. I can't stand it. It scares me. He scares me.

No, I push that thought aside. I can't do this. I need to breathe. He unnerves me so much. I never know where I am with him. My thoughts and emotions battle for my attention, each pulling in opposite directions. Any time spent with him feels as if I'm on a roller coaster.

His finger is still slowly stroking my cheek and I move my head to one side, lifting my hand at the same time to brush his hand away.

He offers no resistance and even steps away from me.

I take a deep, cleansing breath of air, but it's not quite enough. My eyes are still trained on the carpet. I can't look at him. I don't know what to think. The seconds tick by and the silence between us seems to be growing to a deafening roar. I would give anything not to be here. I don't know what to do. I risk a look in his direction, and what I see is certainly not what I was expecting. He is looking right at me and I am caught in it against my will. His expression isn't making it any easier for me to decipher what the hell is going on. In fact, for want of a better word, he looks… pained. But what do I say to this man that captivates me so and terrifies me at the same time? The silence is oppressive now.

He quietly sighs and says in a soft voice, "I am truly sorry for my behavior just a moment ago."

My mouth might be hanging open now. And I'm pretty sure that he isn't going to get a response from me. There is no way I can string two words together following that. Edward Cullen just apologized to me? Mr. A. C? I might have to call Angela and Rosalie right away. I wonder if he'll say it again so that I can record it…

"I don't like surprises," he continues.

"Surprises?" Does he mean my being in Paris, or my seeing Jake? And as soon as I think this, I want to know. "What surprises?"

He just remains silent. It's infuriating. Finally, he opts for a cryptic response. "I was unprepared."

"Unprepared for what?"

"My reaction to finding you here." None of this is making any sense, and I spot the beginnings of a scowl creeping across his face. He suddenly wipes his hand across his face and I realize how still he has been all this time. "No matter. Now that I'm here you'd better show me what you've found." And just like that the shutters are back up. If I didn't know any better I might be tempted to think that I never heard the apology fall from his lips. Rosalie and Angela are never going to believe this.

oOo

We're approaching the entrance of the catacombs when Jake's cellphone beeps with an incoming message.

The journey from the hotel can hardly be called pleasant, but both Jake and Mr. Cullen have been uncomfortably polite to one another, each overemphasizing their willingness to ignore their encounter in my hotel room.

"Why don't you guys go down? Leah's just texted me, I'll be there in a minute."

Although I am hardly enthusiastic about this suggestion, I know Jake probably needs a break from the effort of being civilized to someone who has been rude. He's always had a low tolerance for that kind of behavior.

I lead the way down into the labyrinth beneath Paris. I have to concentrate on my directions and only worry that I've taken the wrong turn a couple of times. This has the benefit of helping me forget who it is I am guiding down here. It is only as I approach the final section of tunnel that I realize that I haven't really heard anything from him, and suddenly I'm worried that I've lost him en route. I quickly turn around to see if I can find him.

I find him all right, as I walk right into his chest, hitting my head on his arm. The pain in my temple is throbbing already. Was he reaching out for me to stop me from falling? I am disoriented. How can a man be so… so… solid. It's true I've not met many bodybuilders in my limited experience, but that image doesn't fit Edward Cullen at all. Wait, what was I doing? Oh, yes, I was looking for Edward. And here he is with his arms around me. What? Why is he doing that? He's looking at me all concerned. I wonder why that is? My head hurts.

Everything seems to be a little off kilter. I look around and slowly the world seems to right itself as I focus on the tunnel around us. I remember where we were going. How can banging my head on the side of his arm reduce me to this state?

"Are you alright?" And I am mortified.

I clear my throat, "Erm, yes. I'm sorry, I don't know what happened." I think I might be concussed. My head is all fuzzy, and the only thing I seem to be able to concentrate on is the comforting smell that seems to surround him. I wonder what cologne he uses.

These inappropriate thoughts make me aware of who is in this confined space with me. And of course that brings to mind Tuesday night. He seems reluctant to let go of me but does so as I wriggle out of his hold.

"You turned around so quickly. Was anything wrong?"

"No, I, er, thought I had lost you back there and you were so close. I hit my head on your arm..." I trail off as I reach to touch the bump I can feel forming there.

"No you didn't. You knocked into the wall," he replies, his head cocked to one side.

I know I didn't. I know I slammed into him. Why would he say differently? Before I can question him he smiles and continues, "Anyway, are you sure you're okay now?"

I nod, still embarrassed, and turn back. "We're nearly there."

oOo

I've spent fifteen minutes giving Edward Cullen the tour of the room, and we're now standing in front of the dot pattern that has me so wound up. I'm just finishing up about the caves in Southern France. I glance up at him to see him staring intently at the drawings. He looks as if he is angry at them now.

I wonder again what's wrong with him, and that reminds me of something.

"Are you well Mr. Cullen?" He looks as startled at my question as I feel. I didn't mean to ask him, but I realize that it's been bothering me since I saw him at the hotel.

He composes himself quickly. "Of course. Why do you ask?"

"You seemed, urm, tired… You're eyes…" Where am I going with this? I'm going to sound insane if I tell him that they've changed color.

"What about them?" He is scowling.

I shake my head. "Oh, nothing, forget it. I thought… really, never mind." I need to change the subject before I make a fool of myself. "So, what do you think about all this?" I wave towards the wall in front of us.

He continues to look at me for a couple more seconds before turning back to look.

"It is certainly curious, but likely a coincidence, don't you think?"

"A coincidence?"

His reactions to everything so far are strange. I'm not sure exactly what I expected. I think it's that he doesn't seem very surprised by anything I've showed him. He's taken it all in his stride. Yes, he's inquisitive and asks the right sort of questions, but it's all very polite. Why can't I get a handle on him? It is infuriating.

I am in the middle of explaining to him the various theories I've come up with about the dot patterns and their counterparts in the caves, when he suddenly straightens up and looks to the entrance to the chamber. I stop mid-sentence and look over my shoulder to see what's happening. As far as I can tell, there's nothing. Nobody is even standing at that end of the room.

I'm about to turn away when Jake's figure emerges from the darkness of the entrance. He sees us and heads over. "Hey Bella, I'd like to introduce you to someone." Following him is an attractive woman about my age, thin, with black hair cut into a short bob.

As they approach, Edward swiftly moves forward, almost standing in front of me, before he steps quickly back to where he was. His stance is rigid as Jake approaches, although Jake doesn't seem to notice anything. He's too excited.

"Bella, I need you to meet Gianna Rossi. Gianna, this is Bella Swan from the British Museum, and erm, Edward Cullen…"

"From the Cullen Foundation?" Gianna immediately asks. Cullen's reputation precedes him, and this reminds me that a lot of people would kill to have him as their patron. I should be thankful instead of feeling stressed and socially awkward at the behavior of my boss.

For his part, Cullen gives a stiff nod confirming her suspicions.

"Well, it really is an honor. There are areas of my work that I think would interest the Foundation. I'd love to talk you about it. Maybe when we've finished down here, I could tell you more…"

As she speaks I can see a change come over Edward. He seems to shift from being aloof to mirroring her body language.

"Why of course, Dr. Rossi. Your reputation precedes you."

And that just about takes the cake. He barely knows this woman and yet can address her by her appropriate title. In contrast to my scowl, _Dr._ Gianna Rossi simpers.

"Mr. Cullen, honestly, I hadn't realized that you were aware of what I've been working on."

I can't help but stare at the bald-faced self-promotion that's taking place in front of me. I hate that a tiny part of me admires her single-mindedness. Glancing at Jake, I can see that he is none too impressed either. He politely clears his throat.

"Gianna, I wonder if you could tell Bella about…"

He is cut off rudely by Cullen, who decides that this is the moment to engage with the sycophant and begins to, for want of a better word for it, _flirt_ with Gianna. He leans closer to her and in a tone that can only be described as seductive says, "In the field of blood-letting rituals in Southern Italy, you are in a league of your own."

However skilled Gianna is at promoting herself, even she is not immune to the Cullen charm, and I can see her cheeks redden. I know how that feels and it makes me feel nauseous. Was I so easily seduced? Maybe he does this with all female researchers that come his way. Jealousy blooms out of nowhere, filling me up with it's poison, and I have to turn away to look at the wall. Unfortunately, I am still privy to their continuing conversation as Gianna regains her cool composure.

"Well, I have worked very hard at it. I think it also helped that I started volunteering at sites when I was only 15. I find it so fascinating."

"I can tell. Your dedication is impressive."

I can't believe the audacity of the guy. I am standing next to him and Gianna. How could he be this insensitive – do I mean so little? I am fuming, and from the look on Jacob's face he has had about as much as I have of this. He politely tries to cut in on their conversation again, "Gianna…" but Cullen continues speaking over the top of him, asking Gianna what her favorite site has been. His behavior is so rude; it's almost embarrassing. I wonder, for the millionth time what's going on with him. Now it seems as if he doesn't want Jacob to ask Gianna anything. It's so weird. Meanwhile, Gianna seems oblivious, pleased to have a potential patron's attention.

She is saying, "Oh, it's definitely what I'm working on at the moment. The Sicilian site has been very…"

"That's what I wanted to ask you about," Jake cuts in, trying to get Gianna's attention, but again Cullen cuts him off.

"Shall we go back up and you can tell me all about it?" His hand is on her elbow, guiding her out.

I turn back to my work, pleased that I no longer have to be saddled with the infuriating man and wondering what it is that Cullen seems to be so wound up about? Is he so afraid that Jake is competition for his latest conquest? Jake has had enough too it would seem and he stands in their path before they can leave.

With no preamble Jake asks Gianna, "Can you tell Bella what you told me?" Cullen looks as though he wants to tear Jake's head off.

She rolls her eyes at him and says somewhat grudgingly, "Can't it wait Jake?"

"Come on, it won't take a minute. Then I promise, I won't hassle you anymore."

She throws an exaggerated, apologetic smile to a livid-looking Mr. Cullen.

"Sure." Sighing she walks up to me, and without ceremony starts to tell me about a burial site she's been investigating in Sicily. She is describing the six-foot stelae that are placed all around the area they are excavating. Some are in better condition than others, and they've managed to get some good impressions from them. "The best one we have is a bit of a mystery for us as it's so unlike any of the others in style. If we didn't know better, it would be easy to say that it was from a completely different era. But dating proves that it's not."

"What's the pattern of?" I ask, as the hairs on my arm seem to start to tingle. I feel as if I'm about to hear something momentous.

"Well that's just it. It's of nothing really, a series of dots with the outline of a hand next to them."

I step to one side, revealing the wall paintings to the full view of all.

"Like this?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

**oOo**

**Author's Note:**

**The homage in Chapter 12 was Jake's reference to Leah's opinion of Macs over PCs. It was borrowed from jenjiveg's brilliant story Inappropriate Touching. This has unfortunately since been taken down, but mem4375 was the closest person to get the reference.**

**I realize that ffn has changed recently. If you have time and feel so inclined to review, do log in so that I know who you are!**

**I am ellenathan on Twitter.**


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